Darkness Descending
by tutu4u
Summary: Valentine's victory over the shadowhunters leaves a nation in pieces, and reduces Clary and Jace to nothing more than memories. Sent out into the country by Valentine they have to learn to adapt to a world where everything they once stood for is wrong.
1. A Night to Remember

Chapter One: A Night to Remember

The gag in Clary's mouth tasted like hate, degradation, and…fear. She wriggled around on the sandy bank, eyes never straying from the man at the lake shore. The monster that was minutes away from destroying everything they'd worked so hard to stop. Valentine. Her father.

He was muttering strange words, dipping the blood-tipped sword into Lake Lyn. Clary watched in horror as the reflective water in the lake began to bubble and froth. Valentine was chanting then, ordering something into existence that shouldn't have been there. The air was tinged with power, the sky was churning, vomit threatened to inch up Clary's throat. She tossed and turned, trying to break the bonds on her hands and legs, but it was utterly hopeless.

In the distance, on the other side of the lake, miles away, the glow of a fierce battle was painting the dark sky a bloody red. Clary's stomach fell out when she realized that her mother was down there, Luke was there, the Lightwoods, Simon, everyone she cared for. All down there, neck deep in demon muck and blood…and it was all for nothing.

_At least, _she thought, trying to cling to some desperate hope, _Jace isn't down there. _

In the back of her mind, a cruel voice told her she shouldn't hope for anything like that. Valentine's taunting had given her one answer. Jace was with Jonathan, and that wasn't any better. Jonathan hated Jace, despised Jace, wanted him to die a slow terrible death. And she knew better than to hope that Jace could kill Jonathan; she remembered the way he fought.

A tear slithered down her cheek, then another and another.

_Please, Jonathan, don't kill him! _Clary begged silently. She'd just gotten Jace back, just learned she could keep him, and now she was going to lose him. _Bring him back to Valentine, take him prisoner, just don't kill him!_

When she looked up again, Clary saw Valentine throw the sword into the lake, and Lake Lyn exploded into a ferocious storm. She knew what was coming seconds before the eerie light rose from the angry depths. She felt the surge of power and the descending of ultimate energy. An angel. Raziel.

Clary had to look away from the light, but when she looked back, the angel was hovering before Valentine, speaking, and Clary was ashamed because all she could think of was Jace. Clary forced herself back to Valentine and Raziel, and she saw Valentine was making gestures with is hands, pointing to the binding circle around the angel. Raziel, the glorious angel, narrowed his golden eyes but nodded in consent.

_No, no! _Clary thought desperately. _Don't give him what he wants, Raziel. Don't let him enslave your people. Help us fight him. _For single moment, the angel seemed to hear her pleas and looked to Clary, but she knew already that it was pointless to fight anymore.

Valentine bowed his head as Raziel began to glow with a golden light. There was a burst of light so powerful it burned, and Clary felt a tingle in her wrist and at her throat where Valentine had Marked her. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Something else inside her crumpled, though. Clary felt a cold, unstoppable will pressing her down, bending her to its command. She couldn't fight it, and she slipped into a grey area between dreams and consciousness.

When Clary came back to her proper senses, Valentine was alone on the lake shore. He was laughing, marveling at his own hands, praising the angel. He turned back and gazed around him like a king assessing his land. For a few minutes, he simply looked, wondering at what was now his. And then his dark eyes fell on Clary.

"Ah, dear daughter," he said with a sickly smile. "What do you think of your father now?" Clary lashed out with all her will, and was disgusted when Valentine only laughed at her display. "Come now, answer me fully." He knelt and ran a hand over the mark on her throat. Clary shivered when she felt his fingers touch her, untie the gag, and then gently tub her sore neck. "Speak."

The order sent a shudder up her spine. She clenched her teeth, fighting with all her strength, but something stronger was holding her in check. "You bastard!" Valentine didn't even flinch. "I hope you burn in hell."

"Clarissa, I am your father, and I expect to be treated with that respect." He inspected her, shaking his head sadly. "I'm afraid I will have to begin your training immediately if I have any hope of making a proper shadowhunter out of you."

"I'll never listen to you-"

"Of course you will, Clary. You don't have that choice anymore." Valentine ran a hand through her hair lovingly. The touch made Clary want to vomit again. "From now on, I'd like you to call me Father, Clarissa."

"And I'd like you to drown in the lake over there, but neither of us seems to be getting our wish today, do they?" she snapped, well aware it could be her last words.

Valentine pondered this for a moment, and then his face lost all traces of enjoyment. "You are bound by the angel to do my will, but I'll see to it that you never disobey me again, Clarissa."

"Never."

"Then I'll kill Jace, and I'll make you watch."

Valentine was quite pleased to see Clary's mouth snap shut at that. Her eyes widened until Valentine thought they might pop out of her head. He smiled victoriously when he saw the tears unveiled in her green eyes. He stood and stretched his long legs, staring back into the distance where the fight was still underway.

"I have very little patience left for you, Clarissa. I will not let it be known that my own daughter would disobey me, and so you have forced my hand." His face was emotionless, devoid of thought or care for the boy he'd once called his son. "You will do as I say, or I'll kill him the moment he gets here. And let everyone know whose fault it is that Jace is dead."

Clary struggled for a little while with the anger and desperation bubbling inside her, but she already knew what choice she was going to make. Clary dipped her head so Valentine wouldn't see the last of her tears fall, and then she faced him, biting her lips and trying so hard not to scream. He towered above Clary, waiting for the words that would condemn her.

"Don't hurt him," murmured Clary, keeping her eyes locked on Valentine's.

Her father shook his head sadly. "I don't take orders from children, Clary."

"_Please_," Clary emphasized the word, "don't hurt him."

Still, Valentine just stared and pressed his lips together. When Clary didn't continue, he sighed loudly and tapped his foot in the sand. "Please don't hurt him _what_?"

_Bastard, sadistic bastard. _"Please, don't hurt him, Father."

With a satisfied nod of the head, Valentine turned from her, speaking conversationally. "It's not that I enjoy this, Clarissa, but I _need _you to respect me. You can ask Jace what it's like…that is, if Jace lives long enough." He caught her eye over his shoulder. "That all depends on you. So, do you want Jace to live?"

Clary couldn't speak any more. The very thought of losing Jace, of not seeing his devilish smile, those golden eyes, hearing his warm voice, was too much for her to bear. Her throat constricted and tightened until Clary thought she might not be able to breathe. She tried to form words, but nothing came out of her mouth but gasps.

In the end, Clary just nodded and tried to rasp the word yes.

"Excellent. I have no intention of Marking my own child with an obedience rune. Just understand that Jace's life is your responsibility." Before Clary could find her voice to answer, Valentine vanished into the bushes on the shore. He returned with a horse, whinnying and stomping the sand. "Once Jonathan arrives, we will head to Brocelind for your mother, and, of course, to spare those shadowhunters who would join me."

"Does-does Jonathan have Jace?" Clary couldn't keep fear out of her voice.

Valentine checked his pack on the horse and chuckled. "I certainly hope so, or else the boy got away, and I dearly wish to speak with my stepson. There is so much to explain."

"Don't call him that!" snarled Clary.

"Boy?"

"Stepson," growled Clary. "Don't call Jace your stepson."

"Why? He is." He laughed louder than before. "Oh _that_! Don't worry about that, Clarissa, it's not an incestuous disgrace, your feelings. Jace isn't your brother; you're free to…moon after him."

"I'm not mooning after him-"

"I think you are, and that's all you're going to do until I say otherwise. I told you I wanted more of a say in the company you keep." He patted the horse's nose and looked into the distance behind the trees.

"And you have a problem with Jace?"

"I didn't say that, Clarissa." He brought the horse nearer and then heaved her to her feet. "Maybe I think Jace has a reputation."

Clary struggled wildly, tossing her red hair around until Valentine released her. She stumbled back into the horse, which reared back. Clary panicked and dropped to the ground, dodging the horse's hooves. Above her, Valentine was calming the horse, whispering to it, holding it back from stomping his daughter to death.

"Will you do as you're told, for once?" he bellowed, and then took a hank of her hair and tugged until she stood before him.

"You're hurting me!" cried Clary. "Stop!"

"Good," Valentine snorted. He jerked her hair again, driving the point home. "Up on the horse, _dear_."

Valentine shoved her back against the horse, then lifted her swiftly onto it. Clary was just settled on the saddle when her father swung himself up behind her, wrapping both his arms around her and gripped the reins. He pulled the horse around, and Clary leaned as far over the saddle as she could, hating the feel of her father behind her.

"Lean the way I lean," he ordered. Clary threw herself away from her father, trying to unseat herself. Better on the ground hurt, than with the monster behind her. "I said, lean the way-"

"Clarissa has absolutely no idea how to ride a horse, Father."

Clary spun in the saddle and pushed against her father's chest. He grunted when her slight form cut him in half, and cursed when she overbalanced and started to fall. He scooped his arm under her waist and pulled her back into the saddle. Clary punched him as hard as she could in his belly and lunged for the ground.

"Clarissa!" bellowed Valentine. His hand snaked out and slithered around her throat, cutting off her air. "Do you remember what I told you?"

"What did you do to Jace?" gasped Clary between little puffs of air. Valentine tightened his grip and Clary couldn't breathe.

"Where is Jace, Jonathan?" Her father's eyes scanned Jonathan's horse, alighting on a lump on the back of the saddle.

Jonathan's dark eyes flashed angrily at the name. His lips curled and his hands tightened on the reins. "Jace," he spat the name, "took a little fall."

"No!" cried Clary, ripping her father's hand away. _He's not dead, he can't be dead. For the love of god, not Jace._

"Silence!" ordered Valentine, and he pulled his horse up with Jonathan's. "You didn't kill him, Jonathan?"

"No, Father," answered Jonathan at once, smirking at Clary. He readjusted his seating to reveal a lifeless corpse, tossed carelessly over the back of the saddle. Clary spotted the familiar golden hair, now stained with blood. She saw his hands bound with thick rope and tight knots. A cloth gag shoved so deep in his mouth that Clary was surprised he hadn't choked on it.

"Satisfied, little Clary?" asked Valentine, twisting his fingers in Jace's blond hair and pulling up on it. His face, streaked with sweat and blood, stared back at Clary. She nodded shortly, and was horrified to see Jonathan grinning widely at Jace's limp body.

"You're not going to struggle anymore, are you?" Valentine took Clary's chin in his hands and forced her to look at him. "Not even when we get to Brocelind?"

"I hate you," she hissed between her clenched teeth.

Valentine seemed to consider this and his fingers squeezed her chin, threatening to break her jaw. "Jonathan," he said suddenly, never looking away from Clary's face, "we need to teach your sister a lesson. Cut off Jace's ear."

"Stop, please, no!" Clary broke free of Valentine's grip. "No, don't do it! I won't fight, I promise."

Jonathan had a knife in hand, and he placed it gently against the back of Jace's ear. He pressed down and started to saw back and forth. When Clary saw a trickle of blood gush down the side of his face, she grabbed her father's hand and squeezed it until he had to look at her.

"F-father, please, I won't speak, I won't fight." Valentine held up a hand and Jonathan paused, fingers twitching to get back to chopping off his stepbrother's ear. "I'll be…good."

"Why do I doubt that?" laughed Valentine, but he shook his head and Jonathan regretfully put his knife away. "I'll hold you to those words, Clarissa. One toe out of line, one breath, and Jonathan will finish the job. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Clary took a long moment to stare at Jace. She'd never seen him look so helpless, and it scared her. Jace was always supposed to be in charge of things, no one ever got the better of him, but Jonathan had. And so it stood to reason, in Clary's mind, that her entire world was upside down. She couldn't comprehend anything, couldn't understand what was being said and done to her.

"Yes, Father."

After that, Valentine forced Clary to sit straight in the saddle, holding her against him. The world seemed to fade in and out of focus, and Clary was aware only of the malignant shadow behind her. She would try to twist around once in a while to see Jace, but Valentine refused her even that luxury.

The darkness finally ended when they broke cover and emerged on Brocelind Plain. Clary couldn't help but withdraw into her father when the sight met her eyes. Valentine offered no warmth or protection, but he didn't push her away either, just accepted her presence and urged the horse onward.

Seated a few feet in the air didn't help Clary when she saw the piles of rotting bodies, both shadowhunter and Downworlder. A fetid smell rose, threatening to gag her, and flies already swarmed the bodies. Spread far and wide across the plains was crackling fires. Their flickering lights casts shivering shadows on the already dark land. Clary didn't make a sound, though every part of her wanted to cry out, whimper, weep. She forced herself to keep looking, bear it without emotion…until she saw the pools of warm blood.

Like tiny rivulets, blood surged across the plain, and dark, smoky figures were there, nursing at its banks.

A scream was ripped from Clary's throat, and she started to thrash wildly in the saddle. That blood could be Alec's, or Luke's, or Simon's, or even her mother's. What if it was? What if one of them had died. What if they'd all died? She wouldn't be alone in this, she wouldn't spend the rest of her life facing Valentine alone. She needed them alive to help her.

She was still screaming when a hand clamped down on her mouth. "Silent mourning; these men and women had their chance." It was only that order that got across. If she didn't stop, Jace would be mutilated, killed. "Don't fear, many survived."

And many had. They crested a hill, and trapped in a small valley was the army of shadowhunters and Downworlders. None of them were fighting, though the Downworlders growled or snarled occasionally. The shadowhunters, Clary saw, were slumped weakly on the ground, struggling for air. Valentine nudged the horse forward until they were before the ground.

He didn't say a word, just dropped from the saddle with a command for Clary to stay there, and then swerved though the crowd. It was deathly silent as he went, the night air pressing down on them all. Clary could hear her heart beat irregularly, could hear Jonathan growl, and Jace breath.

Valentine broke through the crowd, carrying a withering Jocelyn. She struggled weakly with her husband, but couldn't fight him off when he forced something down her throat. Clary wanted so bad just to jump off the horse and run to her mother's arms, but she just couldn't make her legs work.

And then, the world split open. Jace coughed and came to life with a sputter, Maryse and Robert came darting forward, screaming his name, the demons roared and sprang at the shadowhunters, Downworlders and shadowhunters broke into cries of defeat and fear, and Valentine was bellowing orders.

The sky cracked…the stars twirled and fell…and Clary was screaming…

"Jace!" her voice was hoarse from disuse. "_Jace_!"

"Jace isn't here right now," drawled a silky voice. "But I can help you, little sister. Let me chase aware the nightmares."

Jonathan swooped down on Clary's bed, one hand clapping over her mouth. She didn't even struggle with him then. A month of fighting him off had taught her one thing: he was stronger. She stopped screaming, wishing her cries would have carried to the subject of her screams. Instead, they were trapped in her bedroom, locked behind the closed door, echoing in all of Idris but in Jace's cell.

"It was only a nightmare," cooed Jonathan, tugging on her hair with a wicked glint in his eye.

_No, _Clary thought weakly as she pushed her brother away and he struck her. _The nightmare's just begun. _


	2. Fallen Angels

Chapter Two: Fallen Angels

Isabella dropped to the mud as the girl swung her fist. Her white hand shot out, longing for the feel of her old whip, and she snatched the girl's ankle, tugged and floored her. As the girl splashed mud everywhere, Isabelle rose up, muscles tensing, and got ready to kick if the girl proved to be a problem.

"Don't you _ever_ call my brother that again!" Isabelle snarled, staring down at her.

"Slut!" she crowed back. "Your brother's a queer and you're a slut! No wonder you ended up here, I wouldn't want you either if I were your parents."

"Shut up!" cried Isabelle, lifting her foot. "Our parents love us."

"Then why are you here?" sneered a voice behind Isabelle, and she was dragged back by her hair until she was up against a wall.

Isabelle opened her eyes to be greeted by four other girls, all glaring at her, eyes narrowed to slits. She felt the cold, wet wall behind her, felt the rain beat against her face, and then a fist crashed into her gut, and another, and another. Isabelle tried to fight back, but it was five against one, and Isabelle had no weapon. She sank into the mud, covering her face while the rest of her body was bombarded by blows.

The pain was nothing compared to the shame she felt, though.

It was doubly worse because the girls were right. She and Alec had been taken from their parents the moment Valentine had claimed victory. She'd been pulled out of the house, thrown next to her brother in a carriage, and then tossed into an orphanage. They'd been told their parents were unfit to take care of them. That their mother and father were going to prison so they were now wards of the state. She and Alec lost their inheritance because their parents were rebels, enemies of government. They were nothing now.

"You're a pretty girl, you know that?"

Isabelle looked up through the blood and mud into the eyes of another orphan. A girl with stringy blond hair and a fat face. She was nothing to look at, just another faceless number in the mass. She wasn't going to be adopted anytime soon if she didn't lose weight and run a brush through her hair. At least, that's what Isabelle thought.

"Bad things happen to pretty girls here," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a short, ratty knife. "Let's fix that up, shall we?" Isabelle would have fought back, but two girls pinned her arms to her side. "We'll start with you hair."

Strands of black hair began to fall to the ground, mingling with the rain. The blond was sawing off her hair, laughing wickedly as she did it. Kicking like a mad woman, Isabelle started cursing and screaming, vowing every form of revenge.

"Oh, shut up," the girl snorted and dragged the knife through her hair, taking off a good foot of raven black locks. "You look better for it."

"Let go of my sister!" snarled a low voice Isabelle instinctively turned to.

"Oh, look, Jezebel, it's the queer!" sneered the blond, nudging the girl Isabelle had punched. "Wonder what he's gonna do with us."

Their laughter was hard and high, and Jezebel inched closer to Alec, getting ready to lunge at him. But Isabelle finally freed herself from the blonde's hold and shot across the space to Jezebel. She grabbed a hank of her hair and kneed her in the back. Jezebel dropped to the ground and Alec grabbed the blond and shoved her against the wall. She banged her head against the wall, and a trickle of blood slipped down her face. She collapsed to the ground in a daze.

"What are you staring at?" demanded Alec of the other three girls, who fell back in terror when they saw their leader unconscious. "Get out of here!"

The three scampered off and Jezebel stumbled up to her feet, gaping in horror. She glanced at the blond, at Isabelle, and then at Alec. Tears burst out of her eyes and she sped after the others, crying in terror.

"Come here, Izzy," murmured Alec softly. He reached down to the muddy earth and pulled his sister up into his arms so she could walk. For a minute, it was absolute silence, Isabelle limping after her brother, and then Alec said quietly, "You look something awful."

Thanks," she said sarcastically, but she knew it was true. The beating had left her bloody and bruised, and she felt the jagged edges of her hair, now cropped at her shoulders. Her clothing wasn't just coved in splotches of mud, but thread-bear and care worn. There were holes in it, stray strings, and a foul smell. The shirt was too big, the pants so loose they hung around her hips, tied in place with a scarf. She didn't have a jacket, so she shivered in the bitter wind and rain, and pressed up against Alec.

"You need to eat when we get inside; I can see your ribs." Alec placed a rigid palm against Isabelle's side and felt her ribs. "Just a few more steps and we'll be there. What were you fighting about in the first place?"

Isabelle shot him a furtive look. "Jezebel called you a queer. I told her to shut up. She didn't." It was all very clear to Izzy what she had to do. "She can't get away with disrespecting our family."

"For the love of the angel, Izzy!" he cried, turning her to face him. "You know Jezebel has a pack of rabid friends, why start a fight with her?"

"I don't care if she has an army," she vowed while she slumped up the stairs into the orphanage. "No one can talk about you like that."

"Thanks for defending my honor…but you know it's the truth." Alec looked away uncomfortably, shaking out his wet hair that was now so lank it looked sickly. "Come on, we need to get you a new change of clothes and a bath if possible."

"A bath? I really don't see how that's gonna help."

"You can't be filthily and expect to be adopted. And the sooner someone takes us out of here-" Alec looked around the dismal foyer, eyes darkened at the grimy sight "-the better."

* * *

There always seemed to be darkness in this place. No light of sun warmed the cold, no beam of moonlight illuminated the dark. Not even the fragile light of stars shone in the dank cell. Pain seeped into the room, leeching at the courage of all inside, devouring hope.

Jace wondered if he'd ever see natural light again. In a month, he'd learned the dimensions of his cell, but it didn't help him much when he was trapped. If someone came calling, he might press himself into a corner, but they always came with a torch or witch-light. He was blinded by the fierce glow, and then it was too late to defend himself from Valentine, who would pin him down and force him to listen, Jonathan, who delighted only in torturing him, or Jocelyn, who felt it her duty to come and speak to him.

But none of this was important now, not when he was a day or two from death. Valentine had stopped feeding him, Jonathan had finally gone insane and turned minutes into hours of hell, and Jocelyn had withdrawn from him. Jace slumped against a wall and shivered in the cold, wishing if he was going to die it would happen quicker.

He closed his eyes and regretted it at once.

An image of a nervous face swam up, a face with full lips and great green eyes, a face with wild red hair and a proud demeanor. It was almost a physical thing for Jace, because he knew he'd never see her again. He knew Valentine meant to kill him now. It was over.

"Clary," he sighed, and he wondered, though his heart begged him not to, how she might have fared since her father had took over. He could recall his childhood, and wished fervently it would never happen to Clary. Just the thought of Valentine striking her perfect face was too much to bear.

Jace opened his eyes to darkness and shifted into a more comfortable position. His broken arm protested the movement, but that didn't matter. If it was going to end, Jace was glad to at least have Clary as a last image.

"Little brother," cooed a voice, a beam of green light cutting a line in his darkness. "Little brother, I know you're awake. I don't let you sleep often. Answer me!"

Jace swallowed heavily. "What do you want?"

"To kill you, slowly and painfully, to watch the light leave you eyes and your heart stop beating," he answered cheerfully. "But my father has other plans for you, and I get no say in them. So up on your feet, Jace, we have a dinner to attend."

* * *

"Wrong, Clarissa, wrong, wrong, wrong!" raged Valentine, staring at the Mark she'd drawn. "It's fairly simple, your brother could draw this when he was four." He shook his head and slammed his hand down. "Draw it again, and again, and again. You'll keep doing it until you get it right, hopefully, before I grow tired of putting up with your failure."

Clary tried to steady her hand from shaking when she redrew the Mark for the tenth time. No matter how hard she focused she just couldn't replicate it the way her father had. It was embarrassing to keep drawing over and over again, and she was just waiting for her father to get mad enough and give up, but he seemed determined. Her hand curled and twisted and she stopped gradually. It looked…passable.

"AHHH!" Clary screamed in torment when her father drove his own stele deep into her flesh, slicing the mark into her skin. Cutting deep enough to draw blood and leave a scar. Another scar. She had many now, and not just the normal shadowhunter scars, but ones that growled angrily at her, that burned bright red and raised scabs. "_Stop_!"

"This is how you draw the Mark. Do you understand, daughter?" he ground the words out and made her look at the bleeding mark on her arm. "Answer me."

"Yes," Clary gasped.

"Again, draw again," ordered her father, and he shoved a pen into her hand.

Now Clary was trembling so bad that she couldn't even put pen to paper before she gave up. She took a deep breath and tried again, and again, the pen just shivered and fell out of her hand. It was pitiable. The presence of her father next to her drove Clary to keep trying, but she could almost feel his impatience as a physical thing

"I-I…" Clary couldn't even try now. She sighed and reviewed her options. If she kept failing, her father was going to take his belt out soon. She blinked slowly, pushing back memories of the first time her father had whipped her. "…I don't think…"

"I didn't ask you to think, Clarissa."

Clary's fingers curled around the pen, but she just gazed at her father. She didn't think it would work, but she had to try anyway. Her eyes widened, pleading the only way she could now. Her lips trembled against her will, and she couldn't stop shaking. It was pathetic and cowardly, but she just couldn't do it. She was begging her father to let her go, and he just stared back.

"You may begin any time now," he said absently, knowing exactly what she wanted him to do. "We've been her for an _hour and a half_, finish your work."

"I can't, okay?" snapped Clary. "My arm hurts and I can't draw straight anymore, I can barely hold the pen. Just stop this, please." She threw the last word in with the hope it might jog some paternal instinct.

Her father rose slowly from the chair after a long pause. He glared down at her, and she inched to the edge of her chair, ready to jump up and run to her room and find something to put on her wounds. But as she started to stand, her father pushed her back down, eyes glinting.

"You will stay and complete the mark, Clarissa. When you have drawn it properly, you will come to my study and present it to me. If you've done it right, you may go eat, and if not…well, I suppose you will go another day without food."

"Don't…don't do this, father," she whispered, head dropped in agony. But when she looked back up he was gone. Clary gazed at the place he had been and then finally broke down.

The tears bubbled over and raked her body. She dropped the pen. Brushed the paper away. Crumpled into herself and wept. She knew she couldn't draw the Mark. She knew she wasn't going to eat today. It was going on five days and all she'd had was some broth three days ago. Her father was starving her into submission and no one seemed to care.

As she cried, Clary took up the pen and went back to work. She drew the Mark again and again but just couldn't make it. Her hand couldn't make the pen work, couldn't make the Mark. But she just kept at it, hopelessly repeating the exercise, desperately even. And the tears kept coming.

"Please…" Clary moaned, "…can't do this." Her pen drooped in her hand and she ducked her head down.

"Have a little faith, Clary."

The voice was gentle and smooth. It wrapped her up in its warmth and offered her the protection she needed. Another hand cupped hers and began to lead her hand through the paces of the Mark. It traced it once, and then placed the pen in her hand and led her. She was resting her head on the table, watching her hand move in his when another arm pulled her gently up. She rested back against his chest, breathing in his familiar smell.

"Jace," she sighed, and then dropped the pen. She twisted around and locked her arms around his waist, holding on for dear life. "Oh, Jace."

"Don't cry, you can't cry. He'll know you're weak, he'll use it against you, he'll ruin you if you let him." Jace knelt down next to her and cupped her face in his hands. "You're going to have to be strong."

"Why are you here?" Clary sniffled and stared into his golden eyes. "Why now? Are you staying?"

Jace frowned. "I suppose I'm the bribe, Clary. That means, of course, if you fail, things will go poorly for me. So, do me a favor and don't give Valentine a reason to kill me." He grinned slowly and then brought her face to his in a gentle kiss, and then spoke against her lips. "Take this to Valentine. Eat something. Don't worry about me. I'll find you."

* * *

_They can't just give us away, _Izzy thought, staring out of the broken window into the backyard of the orphanage later that night. She looked like a stature carved of marble, just staring out into the blank, unknown world. _We should have a say in this._

Alec sat across from Isabelle, head in hands, looking more broken than ever. Occasionally he would stare at the door, as if trying to pry behind its walls, groping for information. Then, Alec would slip back into a terrible depression, swallowing loudly and shaking his head lost.

"I don't understand, Alec. You're eighteen, you can be my legal guardian," Isabelle said softly. "Why do we have to go with some Valentine-loving family?"

"You heard them. Because we don't have our inheritance, so how would I support you? We'd end up on the streets in days. This is the only option left for us." He reached for her hand and clenched it. "If our parents were here…but they're not."

"But what if they come back?" exclaimed Izzy, and she finally understood her desire to stay at the horrible orphanage. If her parents were ever freed, ever convinced their captors they were decent shadowhunters, they wouldn't be able to find her. She would have been traded away with no trace or record to show for it. She'd never see her parents again. "Do you think this is what Jace felt like when he came to stay with us?"

Just the thought of Jace made Alec's heart clench. It hurt too much to ever consider what had happened to him. All Alec could remember was watching Jace struggle fruitlessly against Jonathan, a terror in his face Alec had never seen. "No, he didn't have anyone. We were the family he was coming to."

"Do you think he misses us?" Izzy stifled a dry sob. She missed Jace painfully, she missed his ironic smile and golden eyes. His smooth voice and gentle touch. She just missed him.

"I'm sure he does. Whatever Valentine's done with him must be horrible." There was a booming laugh from behind the closed door and Alec knew the deal was sealed. "I think we were just sold."

"Don't. Just don't."

"Okay, Izzy. We just have to work through this. These people are willing to take us in, feed us, clothe us, care for us. Just put up with it and smile. It can't be worse than this place."

"Yes, it can," said Izzy slowly, enunciating each word. "It's about to get much, much worse."

"What do you-"

"Hello, children," cooed a slick voice, a shadow growing on the wall like a death cloud. Alec looked up and his face paled. He stuttered, pulled Izzy against him, and began to shake. Isabelle was cowering behind her brother, not at all ashamed of her fear. "Your father's here."

Isabelle and Alec whispered in unison, unable to staunch their disgust and shock. "Malachi."


	3. Sweet, Sweet Dreams

Chapter Three: Sweet, Sweet Dreams

A brush ripped through the straggly strands of Isabelle's hair that brought tears to her eyes. She grit her teeth and clenched the sides of the bath tub. The maid seemed to find this amusing and gave another violent tug that sent shivers up Isabelle's body.

"Would you stop moving?" asked the maid in frustration.

"Would you stop trying to scalp me?" retorted Isabelle angrily, her head stinging.

"Now, now, now, dear Izzy, that's no way to speak to the maid. It's not our fault you decided to cut your hair."

Isabelle's attention snapped to the man standing in the doorway. His dark eyes swept over her, like he was assessing a horse, and then a terrible smile curled his lips. When Izzy shivered, it was because of the cold anger that Malachi couldn't hide.

"Just sit still and let her finish, and then you and I can have a lovely father-daughter talk." Malachi entered the room and sat down on the stool next to the tub, silent as ever.

"I'll be done in a minute, my lord," said the maid, and finally snapped the brush out. Izzy screamed and placed her hands gently on her sore head. "She'll need to soak in the bath for at least twenty minutes to get rid of that terrible stench." The nurse spoke to Malachi, as if Isabelle wasn't there or didn't understand.

"She'll stay," Malachi assured and excused the maid. When she had closed the door with a definitive snap, Isabelle sank a little into the tub, as if the water could protect her. "So, how are you adjusting to your new home? I like to think it is an ideal child-raising home." When Isabelle was quiet, Malachi continued. "Of course, that depends on the child. You're going to be a good child, aren't you?"

"I'm not a child, Malachi," Isabelle said calmly.

"I'd say you are, and you're not to call me by my first name. I'm your father, now." He stroked her face endearingly.

"You are _not _my father," she hissed, surfacing completely from the water.

"I am now," he laughed. "Your parents are unfit criminals. They're responsible for the death of your brother-"

"Jonathan did that!"

"They rebelled against the Clave. They were even banned from Idris for a time." Malachi's eyes never left Isabelle's face, and there was a hungry look in them.

"They were banned because they joined Valentine," snarled Izzy. She splashed water all over, spraying Malachi with soap.

Like a snake, Malachi snapped. His hand shot out and struck Izzy across the face. "Don't make a mess!" He looked at all the water puddles on the floor. "Your parents must have done a horrible job raising you. I will do what I can to correct the mistake, but it will require work on your part."

"You can go to hell," said Izzy pressing her hand against her cheek. Her voice had lost its sharp anger, but she still wouldn't bow to his will. "You're not my father, and I'm not going to treat you like him."

"Isabelle Lightwood," he pronounced her name slowly, "you will not speak to me that way." There was something in his voice that made Isabelle flinch, something that brought back memories of that terrible night. The night she was beaten, the night Max was murdered, the night she lost that spark that had defined her for so long. "I am your father now, your lord, you-"

"No!" she cried, coming out of the trance. "I don't know why you took me and Alec, but I don't care. We're not your children, we don't belong to you. I'll never do what you say."

Malachi took a wet clump of Isabelle's hair and dragged her to the edge of the tub. She struggled to cover herself, but Malachi didn't seem to care. He pulled until she was bent over the side of tub, her back exposed to her eyes. Malachi drew out a stele and began to trace a Mark on her back. She thrashed around and cried, finally screaming for Alec, but it wasn't going to stop Malachi. He finished the Mark with a flourish and patted her back.

"There now, Izzy-" She flinched when he said her name. That was what her friends called her, her family. When he said it, it was like a pet name. "-that wasn't hard, was it?"

Isabelle slid back into the tub, coating herself in soap and water protectively. She felt the Mark in her back like a furious brand, and knew just by the weakening of her will what it was. A loyalty Mark, not permanent, but certainly sustaining. She ground her teeth together until she thought they would crumble.

"Now that I have your attention, Isabelle. You are my daughter now, your parents are criminals, you're going to do what I say from now on, and you will _never_ show me or my colleagues any form of disrespect. Understood, my dear?" Malachi's eyes never faltered from hers, but Isabelle stared down at the foaming water. "I'll take that as a yes. Finish your bath, get dressed, and come down for dinner."

"Where are you going?" Isabelle asked as he crossed the threshold. She felt a horrible sensation in her stomach. As long as Malachi was with her, she knew her brother was safe. If he was gone, he could be doing anything to anyone.

"I need to have a chat with your brother."

"Alec…" murmured Isabelle, but Malachi was already out the door.

Out in the hall, Alec leaned casually against the wall, waiting for Malachi to see him. He had considered going back to his room and waiting there, but it would have been easier to just find him. Malachi strolled into the hall, a grim smile on his ugly face. When he saw Alec standing in the corner, he smile widened.

"Alec, excellent, I was just coming to find you."

"I heard what you said to my sister, what you did to her." His blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't you threaten her."

"I wasn't threatening her, I was explaining how I expect my house is to be run. It's a good thing you heard because I don't like repeating myself." He breathed out, waiting for Alec to speak. "Silence is also a good policy here, as I expect obedience too."

"You can't just expect us to bow to your wishes. I'm an adult." Alec rose as tall as he could, and Malachi punched him hard enough in the chest to double him over.

"Don't kid yourself, Alec," he seethed. "Valentine asked me to take you and your worthless sister in. It was an order, nothing more. You think he's just going to let you walk out with your sister? No," he laughed, "you will stay in this house until I decide to let you go."

Alec clutched his stomach and took deep breaths. "Valentine planned this…?"

"Yes, and you'd do good to consider the implications of this before you speak next." His laughter was full of malice.

"Implications?"

"Do you like having a bedroom of your own? Do you like being fed? Or do you want me to beat you and your sister? Do you like me to degrade you like this?" Malachi forced Alec to look into his eyes. "Be a good boy and go downstairs for dinner. Your sister will join us shortly."

* * *

_Had it been just a dream, a sweet dream? _Clary wondered as she sat on her bed, twisting her hands in her skirt. _Was Jace really there, or have I finally gone crazy? _

There was a sound outside her door, an ominous creak, and she snapped to attention. It had only been a month that she'd been under her father's care, but Clary knew she'd changed. She could see it in the mirror, the widening of her eyes, her twitching. She was as skittish as a rabbit and she couldn't help it.

"Clary, dear, are you in there?" asked a sweet voice, like the trilling of a bird. Clary let a little of the tension out of her. "You father told me you're going to join us for dinner. Is it true?"

"Yes, Mother," answered Clary with a shaky laugh.

"Are you ready for dinner, dear?" she asked again.

"Yes, Mother."

"May I come in, Clary?" Her voice lost the sweetness and was all apprehension.

"Y-yes, Mother," said Clary after a little deliberation.

The door opened easily, light from the hall spilling into her room. Her mother stood there, outlined in the light, looking like an angel. Her red hair toppled out of the bun and fell in waves over her shoulders. She smiled serenely and rushed in, hands outstretched for her daughter's pale cheeks.

"Oh, Clary, you look like a little princess," she drew her daughter to her feet. "I knew you'd come around to your father. I'm so proud of you."

Clary withdrew from her mother a little and nodded absently. She wanted so bad to grab her mother and shake some sense into her. She wanted to scream at her and demand to know why she would rather love some man than her own daughter. Why was Valentine so great and she, Clary, was just worthless. She loved her mother, but ever since Valentine had brought her back home, Jocelyn had seemed to forget her. Now, she mooned after Valentine like a lovesick child.

_Please, mom, just come back to me, just hug me like you mean it. Don't let Valentine do whatever he wants to me! _"Thank you."

"It's been so strange having out family split, but everything will be put to rights soon. I know you're working so hard to catch up, and your father can be strict, but just keep trying." She obviously thought she'd said something encouraging.

"Yes, Mother," Clary whispered. "I'll keep trying."

Her mother smiled and swept a clear eyed sweep over Clary. "You look presentable. Come along, dear, dinner is almost ready."

Following her mother with every longing to hit her, Clary made her way down the hall and steep staircase. The entrance hall was warm and lit with flickering lights, casting shivering shadows along the floor and walls. Clary bit her lips and glanced about the room wondering when the nightmare would begin, but the smell of freshly baked bread floated to her nose and she tripped toward it.

Just as she reached the door a hand reached out and clutched her wrist. "I see the Mark you drew was satisfactory."

Clary jumped and spun into Jace. He was dressed formally, wearing a white button up shirt and black pants. He smiled tightly, obviously feeling the tension in the room, and then set her hand in the crook of his arm. Clary was too shocked to move, so she just stared and fought tears that threatened to overflow.

"You're here!" she whispered frantically. "Val-Father let you come?"

Something crossed in his eyes that scared Clary. She'd never seen Jace look as terrified as he did then. Like he'd lived a hundred years of torture and still had more to come. He sighed and gazed down at his feet before giving Clary a tug and leading her into the dining room. She froze when she saw Jonathan.

"Hello, little sister," he said silkily. "And my step-brother, Jace. What a pleasant surprise." His dark eyes narrowed on Jace and Clay felt Jace's pulse thump wildly. Something passed between the two and then Jace could move again.

"It's been a while since you've eaten a proper dinner, I suppose," Jonathan said as Jace and Clary took seats right next to each other. "Let's hope this isn't the last."

"Jace," Clary said loudly, "have you heard from the Lightwoods-"

"Oh, Jace hasn't heard from anyone where he's been, have you, little brother?" Again, Jonathan forced himself into their conversation. They could hear his laughter as he spoke.

"I didn't know you'd changed your name to Jace," answered Jace easily. "It hardly suits."

"I wouldn't want that name," Jonathan said indifferently. "It seems…lacking." He scratched his chin, pondering. "Most first names have last names as well. What's yours?"

Jace paled three shades before he managed to speak. "Herondale."

"That's not you name. Your parents were dead before you were born. They never named you. You are no one. Nothing."

"Shut-up, Jonathan," hissed Clary.

"Is that any way to speak to your brother?"

"It's a way to speak to you," snapped Clary, and she clenched her fork to siphon off her anger.

"Now, now everyone, I would like to have a civil meal." Clary straightened her back and scratched at her arm unconsciously as her father swooped down into the room like the prince of darkness. "Clary, apologize to your brother."

She gaped at her father first, then at Jonathan, who was smirking, and lastly to her mother, who simply gazed back, her eyes begging Clary to submit. She felt a hand brush hers, and knew Jace was urging her to speak up.

"Sorry," she choked out, teeth grinding together.

Jonathan blinked as if he hadn't heard correctly and then smiled like an angel. "Of course, Sister, I understand completely. Just a slight lapse in manners, nothing that can't be fixed with a few lessons in etiquette."

"It was," Clary agreed, and she lowered her lashes. Absently, she saw that Jace's hand was clamped tightly on hers, and she took a little solace in knowing he was there.

"Now that _that_ unpleasantness has passed, I think we can enjoy our dinner," Valentine said and smiled winningly around the table. "And we have a guest. Jace, welcome back."

Carefully, after taking a sip out of his glass of water, Jace replied formally. "It's good to be back in fine company."

"I can imagine it is after a month of-"

"Now Jonathan, we can discuss that later. For now, let's have a civil meal." Again, Valentine grinned, but Clary felt a sickness grip her at his voice.

The meal was served and it was all Clary could do to stop from swallowing her soup in one gulp. Her thoughts were clouded with the intoxicating smell of hot broth and chicken chunks and she started to shake. Jace, who was perhaps a day away from dying of starvation, bit his tongue.

Valentine made sure everyone had food and then took the first bite, well aware that no one else could eat unless he did. Well aware that Jace and Clary were sick with starvation. After he'd swallowed the first spoonful, Clary drove her spoon in t the bottom. She didn't bother to look around to see who was watching her until she'd drained the whole bowl. After a longing glance at it, she lifted her eyes.

Jace, who she couldn't keep from staring at, was diligently swallowing spoonfuls, pacing himself. She knew his manners were far more tempered than hers, and when she saw that her father's eyes were focused on her with a glint, Clary wished she'd been slower.

"Hungry, are you?" Valentine asked across the table.

Clary swallowed heavily before answering. "It's good food. A compliment, I think."

"Well, its good you're not paid to think," Jonathan muttered.

"You'd do well to eat slower; don't want to get sick," Valentine said over Jonathan, and his voice was hard.

Clary's tongue suddenly weighed a hundred pounds. She couldn't speak when the terror she felt for her father gripped her. Her hand was clammy and cold, and she jumped when Jace spoke smoothly.

"I doubt she'll get sick if she just eats the rest of the meal slower. It was mostly broth she had," he said easily, though Clary could feel his pulse thumping.

"Indeed," Valentine said and then went back to eating.

A salad followed the soup, which Clary munched carefully, and then a main course of turkey and mash potatoes. By that time, Clary knew she was going to be sick, but when small bowls of ice cream were passed around, she had to eat a little. When the plates were removed, Valentine suggested they retire to the study for the evening, but Jocelyn said she was going to lie down.

Valentine and Jonathan strode ahead, and Clary and Jace paused, wondering what was going to happen if they followed. Jace frowned again turned to Clary.

"I don't think we have a choice, but if you'd like to go to bed-"

"And leave you with them?" Clary asked harshly. "No, I don't think so."

Jace wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her slowly to the study. Each of them dragged their feet as much they dared, but all too soon they were standing in the door double doors, watching Valentine and Jonathan situate themselves in chairs before a fire. Clary was only ever in the study when she was having lessons, and it brought back painful memories. At least now Jace was with her.

"Come on," Jace encouraged, and then he drew her closer and into the study.

"Close the door, will you Jace?" Valentine drawled, pouring some wine in a glass. "I'd like this conversation to stay in private."

"That can't be good," Clary murmured, but Jace closed the door and they came in closer.

Valentine was standing before a hearth, classic pose, of course, and sipped his wine. The fire made shadows dance on his face, his dark eyes glinting like fire coals. He scrutinized his daughter and his step-son clinging onto each other, cowering before him. His lips curved up into a wicked smile and Clary's eyes widened.

"No reason to be afraid," laughed Jonathan, who was reclining elegantly in a high-backed chair. "You two look ready to piss yourselves."

"Shut up!" Clary snapped at him, and this time, Valentine didn't stop her. "What's your problem with us? Do you have a quota each day you have to fill for how many times you degrade someone?"

"Who do you think you are-?"

"Calm down, Jonathan," sighed Valentine. "Let me deal with your sister."

"Deal with me?" hissed Clary.

"Yes," Valentine said, and drew up to her. Jace pulled Clary a little behind him, shielding her. "You know I don't appreciate your attitude, Clarissa. I never accepted this kind of behavior from your brother or Jace, and I've reached the end of my patience with you." Jace knew Valentine's voice all too well; the calm steady tone he heard now was clearly a warning. "Jace, let go of Clary."

"No," he said, and stepped in front of her. "I can't let you."

"Jace, I expected better from you. I'd have thought you knew your place."

"This is my place," breathed Jace.

As if he was truly saddened by the refusal, Valentine cast around for someone else to speak in Jace's defense. Jonathan was smiling into his drink, determinedly not paying the least bit of attention. Clary was trying to step around Jace, but he was stronger and just held her back.

"So be it," shrugged Valentine, and then he reached out and took a hank of Jace's curling hair.

Everything happened so quickly that Clary only had time to scream. Valentine dragged Jace across the study back to the fire place and threw him down. When Jace tried to stand back up, Valentine forced him onto his knees and wrestled with him until he had both his wrists in his grip, hovering over the burning coals. Jace must have known what was coming, but he wasn't strong enough or fast enough to escape Valentine from shoving his palms into the coals.

Clary moved suddenly, her muscles jumping into motion. Jace didn't start screaming but Clary was doing enough of that for him. She lunged forward but felt her brother's arms wrap around her waist and heave her to the floor. She was thrashing around, feeling the rug beneath her, and Jonathan was on top of her, panting with excitement.

"No, Father, please don't do this!" she cried as loud as she could.

"N-no. _No_ Jace!" Valentine ordered as Jace crumpled to the floor twitching. He wriggled away from Valentine, and clutched his burnt hands to himself. "Come here."

"Father, please!" begged Clary.

A shadow stretched across the wall and Valentine was standing up before them. He looked down upon Clary and Jace, and then helped Jonathan to his feet. Dignified as any king might be, he retrieved his glass, drained it, and then herded Clary and Jace to a corner of the room.

"Now, I believe we have something to discuss."


	4. All Rivers

Chapter Four: All Rivers

The soup was too salty, Isabelle decided as she swallowed spoonful after spoonful. But then, the last time she'd eaten warm food was…well, that was just it. Isabelle couldn't remember when she'd last eaten warm food. Her spoon clanked against the bottom of the bowl and she lifted her gaze to her brother, sitting opposite her.

"Slow down, Izzy," warned Alec, sipping his own. "You'll get sick."

"Maybe I'll be dismissed from dinner then." Isabelle sounded hopeful.

Alec shook his head and took another spoonful. "Please don't, Izzy. Malachi is just dying for a reason to hurt us. He hates us."

Broodingly, Isabelle ran her hands through her hair, now cropped so short, her hand just barely fit in it. She pulled on her locks, missing the extra foot or two, and detesting the jagged ends. "We're shadowhunters, we can bear great pain."

"Yes, but we don't invite it in just cause we can," argued Alec, and then tilted his head, listening carefully. "He's coming."

A shadow filled the dining room doors, and Malachi swaggered in, gaze sweeping over his adopted children. "You two look much better than you did this morning." He sat down and nodded to the maid who waited, poised to fetch him soup. "A great improvement, if I may say so myself. I'll make shadowhunters of you yet."

Seething inside, Isabelle grit her teeth to stop a rude comment from coming up. She had an irresistible urge to leap across the table and throttle Malachi with her bare hands, or pour steaming hot soup on him, or stab him with a fork…

"Wipe that look of your face," Malachi ordered suddenly. "And don't squeeze your spoon so tightly, you'll break it."

Isabelle glared up at him, but loosened her grip and sipped her water. "Any reason we were put through the washing machine?"

"Tomorrow I'm taking you to your new home," he answered. When he saw their confused faces, Malachi smirked. "Oh, you didn't think I was going to let you live here, did you? Maybe every few months I'll let you come home, but I'm putting you to work."

Alec and Isabelle shared an uncomfortable look. Alec cleared his throat. "Where are we going?"

"There's a manor house out in the country that would like to hire a few servants," he answered with a glint in his eyes. "They accepted your applications."

"We don't have any," Alec pointed out.

"I told them your names, what you're good for, and where to send your wages. They said they could always use more hands. You're hired, congratulations." Malachi watched the nurse place his bowl of soup before him and then blew the steam off.

"How much are we getting paid?" asked Isabelle. If she and her brother raised enough money they could afford to live alone. It would take a long time with servants' wages, and they would certainly be watched by government officials, but it had to be better than here.

"You're not," said Malachi after the first bite of soup. "All your earnings go to me."

"Why?" demanded Isabelle furiously, rising to her feet. "Why should you get all our money?"

"Because I'm your father," he said, as if it should be obvious. "And because it's your penance for the horrible deeds you've done. The rebellion you started. It's the only way you can ever repay Lord Valentine."

"And how long are we going to have to work to repay our debts?" asked Alec uncertainly.

Malachi considered this for a while. "Your entire life," he said slowly.

"No," Isabelle and Alec said at the same time.

"Alright, maybe until your sixties," he hedged with a horrible grin. "It's that, or you could go to prison for the rest of your life. At least this way, you have a little freedom."

"We'll be slaves!" snarled Isabelle.

"You sound surprised," murmured Malachi, and winked. "Finish your soup and bread and go to bed." He waved them away absently. "You're leaving _very_ early tomorrow morning, and I won't have you moping around on your first day."

"Bastard," hissed Isabelle.

"Suggestion: don't call your new employers that or you'll regret it. Things are changing for us shadowhunters, and it's about time you entered out new world."

Alec met his sister's eyes and nodded no to her need to kill the man before her. She lowered her lashes but a blush surged into her cheeks. Alec dipped his bread into his soup and soaked it up before excusing himself from the table. He reached out and pulled gently on his sister's hand, who jumped to her feet.

"I'll have someone wake you tomorrow." Malachi watched them go with his dark eyes bent on some future even he couldn't wait to see.

* * *

"I really don't have the patience to deal with you two ungrateful brats," Valentine drawled. He watched Clary gently run her fingers over Jace's scarred hands. "Clary!" he barked, and she jumped to attention. "I'm talking mainly to you."

"I understand," she said unwillingly.

"I'll let you in on a secret, children," Valentine murmured, drawing nearer. Clary and Jace looked up irresistibly. "Clary, you're going to do whatever I want, and if you don't, I'll kill Jace in the most terrible way possible."

"You can't do that," gasped Clary. "You can't just kill someone…"

"Oh, I can, and I have every intention of doing so if you don't comply." Jonathan snorted into his glass, trying to cover up a laugh. "But, there's good news for you, if you must know."

"How can there be good news?" snapped Clary. "You're going to kill Jace if I refuse you the slightest-"

"I won't kill him for those reasons. If you annoy me, I'll beat you and Jace. I enjoy Jace's company as much as you do." He reached out and cupped Jace's chin in his palms. "No, please, let me finish. Clary, you're my daughter, and I would count it a horrible shame if you spent the rest of your life miserable. You're going to complete your training, Clary, and when you're old enough, I think about twenty, you and Jace can get married." He smiled as if he'd given her the greatest gift ever. "Of course, I'll expect you to stay near home, but isn't what you want most? To live happily ever after?"

Again, Clary was speechless. What was she supposed to say to that? It was everything she wanted. To live with Jace. To get away from her father. But first, four years of pure torture at his hands. Helpless to his demands. His virtual slave. Under her fingers, she felt the scarred, angry flesh of Jace's burned hands.

"You'll kill Jace, I know you will," Clary hissed.

"No. I gave you my word, and that counts for more than you can know." Valentine knelt down before her now and stroked her face gently. She wondered if this was how he held her mother. "It's the only way out, Clary."

Her eyes slipped over to Jace, who was glaring, face contorted into a mask of hate. He hated being used more than Clary hated being ordered around. His hands contracted around Clary's, and a horrible stinging made him gasp.

"What do I have to do?" sighed Clary, and Valentine knew he had won.

"Nothing more than what you've been doing so far. Just do it with a little smile on your perfect face from now on." He stood and circled the two children, and Jonathan muttered under his breath that he wished she'd said no. "Easy enough, right?"

Nothing was going to be easy with Valentine, but Clary just nodded. "Okay, it's a deal."

"That's excellent," Valentine gleamed, and then turn to face Jace, who was glaring daggers at him. "As for you, Jace, your cooperation is of minor importance. If you fail me, I'll kill you-or worse."

"We'll do what you want," said Jace in a low voice.

"I know, and that starts much sooner than you think." He walked away and took a seat by Jonathan. "I think it's time you two left the Glass City. I don't think it helps your constitution much to be here. I want Clary to learn her skills away from the public's prying eyes, just as I did you, Jace."

"Sending us back to the Mundane world?" snorted Jace.

"Not by a long shot. I'm sending you to Morgenstern Manor, your mother and I are going to follow you in two weeks time." His eyes rested on Clary alone, who was rejoicing inside her amazing luck.

"Morgenstern Manor was destroyed," Jace said at once. "By your own enchantments, actually."

"We have a new Manor, Jace."

"Then how are we to find it?" he asked with a smirk.

"Jonathan knows the way, and seeing as he's taking you, that serves my purpose." Valentine beamed at his favored child. "You'll be leaving soon with him and your belongings. All your belongings."

"People will wonder where you've sent us," Clary mused.

"No, you'll be gone from the public for a long time, and then reemerge a new person." His eyes glimmered like sparks in a fire. "You'll like it more out in the country."

Jace considered Valentine's words, finding them increasingly disturbing. He'd spent his childhood out in the manor house, away from all forms of life. Was that his destiny as well? Even if Valentine let him and Clary live together, get married, maybe one day raise a family, would it be out in the country, forever isolated from his friends and family?

"When are we leaving?" he asked warily.

"Tomorrow afternoon, the sooner the better, if you ask me." He looked to Jonathan who nodded and then grinned a malicious, toothy grin at Jace and Clary.

"I'll see them safely there, father," he assured.

"Oh, I have no doubt, Jonathan, but just in case…" Valentine looked meaningfully at Jonathan, and then slowly to Clary and Jace. "I expect you to behave, Clary; I'm sure Jonathan won't have a problem encouraging you."

"You don't need to threaten Jace," she said quietly.

"I felt I had to remind you." Valentine rapped his fingers on the glass. "While you're there, I expect you to carry on with a few lessons Jonathan will tutor you in. You understand?"

"Yes," she answered weakly.

"Jace, you understand your position? You understand the implications of your actions?" His never wavered when he asked, knowing that Jace wouldn't respond without direct eye contact.

Gruffly, Jace nodded and said, "Yes."

Valentine surveyed them speculatively for a second. "Right then. You two are excused to bed." He waved them away absently and then gave his focus to Jonathan. When Jace and Clary just gapped, Valentine flamed. "Go!"

Clary sprung up, Jace a second slower. They backed away cautiously, going as they had come, and then slipped into the hall and up the stairs panting. Clary pressed against Jace and had to hide there for a minute before she could pull her face out again. Jace led her inexorably to her room, where he had her sit down on the bed.

"Why are you panicking?" he asked gently. "We're fine, perfectly safe." He kissed her lips softly and held her arms in his burned hands. "Didn't you hear Valentine? We're going out to the country; we'll be away from Valentine."

Clary trembled even though Jace's lips felt warm. "But you heard him! He said if I didn't do exactly as he or Jonathan ordered you'd be killed. Jace, what's going to happen to us once we're out there?"

"I can't say…"

"Well, I can. We're going to be trapped out there, away from the public-he said-he means away from any form of help. Valentine will be able to do _anything _to us once we're out there. No one can help us. We'll be at his mercy. Completely."

"In case you haven't noticed, Clary, we're already at his mercy," sighed Jace, and he bowed his head. "Listen, we have an early start tomorrow, and I'm guessing you'd like a little more sleep before our day with Jonathan, I know I do." He stood and pointed to the bed. "Goodnight, Clary."

"Where do you sleep?" Clary asked as Jace left the room.

He observed her with a sad smile and pointed down. "Basement."

Jace left after that, though a part of him wanted to curl up next to Clary, at least to make sure she'd be safe tonight. But he knew what Valentine was trying to prove the point he was driving home. Jace no longer had any say in the direction of his life; as much as he wanted to protect Clary, she was the only reason he was alive.

Clary just watched Jace go, confused: she didn't know the place had a basement.

* * *

The carriage rumbled down the dirt road, tossing Isabelle and Alec around inside. They'd been jumbled up for the last three hours, and still had another to go. Isabelle screeched as her one suitcase flew against her slammed into his chest. Dodging Isabelle's leg, Alec reached out and flung it off her.

"Do you have any idea how to drive?" Alec snarled to the groom. He didn't get a response.

"Any idea where we're going Alec?" Isabelle asked, while straightening her skirt. God, she hated the skirt, but Malachi had expressly ordered her to wear it. "We've been in here all morning."

"Just a little while longer, and then we can stretch our legs." He glanced out the window to the warm sunny country. "At least we're away from Malachi."

"Small favors, I guess." Isabelle leaned against the seat and forced herself to watch the land inch by. She was trying to savor the last bit of freedom she had left, and wondered how fast the carriage was going. "Do you think we could jump out, I mean, we've got all our stuff…"

"No, Izzy," Alec said stiffly. "Malachi would hunt us down and then who knows what he'd do with us. We'll just stay and hope he hasn't sent us to some hell hole." Even though he said it, Alec got the feeling he was soon going to hate his life.

The ride carried on in the same bumpy fashion for another hour or so before the groom pulled sharply on the horses reins to slow the animals down. He cast a look over his shoulder and called back to Izzy and Alec: "If you look out the window now, you'll see the manor house."

Isabelle and Alec clambered over to the window and peered out. At the moment, all they could see was a line of evergreens, and in the distance, a break in the trees. There was nothing for miles around, just more forests and dirt roads. The sun light was dappled by tree leaves that bristled on branches, and dust lifted off the road and swirled around the horses' hooves. Then they turned into the break in the tree line and were on a dirt drive leading up to the most magnificent house they'd ever seen.

The lawns that stretched out from the house were emerald green and, in places, abloom with flower gardens. They drew level to the house and Isabelle had to arch her head back to view the whole thing, and even she couldn't find a voice then. Hundreds of windows were thrust open to the outside, giving glimpses into the house. Alec saw the huge set of doors swing open and a man swaggered out, arms crossed severely.

"I guess we've arrived," Isabelle said quietly, in awe of the house.

The carriage door opened and Izzy and Alec fell out, muscles protesting the movement. They each lugged out a suitcase and trudged up to the stairs leading to the doors. The sun was almost too bright for them, and the man towering over them, sneered down.

"You're late," he said by way of greeting. "We've been expecting you two for the last hour." His face was hard, with sharp defining bones, and his voice was icy. "Come on, I'll show you to your room and then you'll start work."

Isabelle and Alec turned back to the groom, who was patting down the tired horses. "Mind if I have a bite to eat before I leave?"

"Yes," the man answered. "I'll have a maid show you to the kitchen." He waved Isabelle and Alec over with a sharp hand. "Come along."

They dragged their feet over the steps, but as they came level to the entrance, they couldn't help but hurry in. The hall they entered was monstrous, floor made of glistening wood and coated in thick carpets, windows allowing slanting beams of light into the room, and a few doors leading to separate rooms.

"Who lives here?" asked Isabelle softly.

Up ahead, leading them purposefully toward a staircase, the man answered, "No one, yet. But they'll be arriving today, and the house has to be in the best of shape. Hurry up, hurry up!"

Alec got ready to mount the stairs but he clicked his tongue and jerked open a door in the stairwell's side. It was a small opening with a staircase heading down. Alec looked down into the dark yawning hole and shivered a little. Isabelle squeezed a little closer to her brother.

"Go down and take a left, you'll find someone who can direct you from there," he barked, and then stepped around to deal with the groom.

"Just go down?" gulped Izzy, but the groom and the greeter were stalking away. "Like to go first, Alec?"

"Sure," answered Alec gruffly and he drew in one deep breath.

The steps creaked under Alec's feet as he descended and the only speck of light was from far below, glowing faintly and uncertainly. Constricted on either side by the stone walls, Alec couldn't go anywhere but down. Behind him, Isabelle was groaning every time her suitcase knocked into her legs. The air got heavier and hotter, and finally, they reached the light.

Before them was a grubby dining hall, lit with only a candle chandelier and a few sconces. There was a hearth, fire crackling in the grate, a couch before it on a threadbare rug, and a small kitchenette with a water-stained wood table. It was cozy, poor-yes, but cozy.

Isabelle slumped over to the couch and dropped onto it, stretching out her hands to the flames. Exploring behind her, Alec found a plate of cookies sitting on the table in a small greeting. He noticed a hall leading off to more rooms, but no one in sight. Slowly, Alec joined Isabelle and leaned against the couch.

Suddenly, there was creak and a laugh. "Well, you must be the two new servants we've hired. Welcome home."

Isabelle and Alec spun about and found a woman standing at the stair landing. She was average height, and rather thin, the unhealthy kind of thin that came with servitude. Her lank brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her clothes were spotted with work stains. But, her face was flushed and delicate, beautiful even, with great round blue eyes. She brushed her hands over her apron and marched over.

"My name's Elsie," she chirped while shaking hands with each of the Lightwoods. "I'm a servant here as well, I'll show you around, introduce you to the rest of the work staff, get you ready for your first day." She pointed down the one hall. "This way."

Alec and Izzy found quickly that they liked Elsie. She was good-natured, quick-witted, and rather lenient of the rules. She showed them to the room they'd share with an apologetic smile, and explained they wouldn't spend much time here anyway, so it didn't matter. She showed them around the rest of the servants quarters, which consisted mainly of more rooms and a bathroom. Afterward, they stomped upstairs and into the house.

The man who had greeted them, Jacob, Elsie had called him, was an ill-tempered old man. He liked to yell at the work staff and was, sadly, in charge of hiring and laying off of employees, so they had to treat him with respect. Elsie was genuinely sad about this.

She explained that their job was easy enough. Mostly cleaning work, and if they were lucky, they might get placed as personal servants to the family in the house, which had yet to arrive. They cooked and served food, cared for rooms, and did other menial work. It turned out that slaves were the real workforce behind the house, so they didn't do any really hard work.

"So, who lives here?" Izzy asked again as they went into the dining room to check on the table settings.

"I've only heard rumors," she murmured, as if afraid someone was listening. A shadow passed and she scurried out of the dining room, heading up the stairs to the next level. The windows let in so much light Isabelle had to shield her eyes.

"A place this big," Alec replied, "it's gotta be someone important."

Elsie opened a closet and drew out linens, sheets, handing a large pile to each sibling. "You'll need to take these to the two rooms on this floor and fix the up. Sorry, but I think they're gonna need to be swept and washed, and then the beds fixed." She was trying to ignore the earlier question. "It'll take a few hours, so if each of us takes a room we'll be done by the time they arrive."

"But who lives here?" pressed Izzy. "As Alec said, this place is huge, it must be a very powerful shadowhunter.

"So it is," assented Elsie as they began down the hall. She peered about, looking for unwanted ears, and then shrugged undecidedly. "I think it's been renamed. Morgenstern Manor.

* * *

Clary leaned back against Jace's chest and closed her eyes to the rhythm of the horse's clip-clopping. It was relaxing to close her eyes and not be afraid someone was going to hit her, or whip her, or throw her around. She felt safe for the first time in months, there, leaning against Jace. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, protectively, and his warm breath puffed down her back. He was humming a piano symphony in her ear and tapping it on the reins.

It was so peaceful, so perfect…and then Jonathan drew level with them and the dream ended.

"So, how are the love birds today?" He had obviously heard Jace because he said with a nasty grin, "Singing, are we?"

Clary eyes popped open on their own accord. She had learned, though she hated to admit it, to fear Jonathan's voice. Her mouth went dry as she searched for something to say back, anything to make him stop.

"What do you want?" Jace said darkly. He felt Clary's tension and squeezed her closer to him in reassurance. "Other than to torment us?"

"Oh, I'll settle for that right now," he said softly and reached out to pet Clary's head. Jace jerked away and pressed Clary against him. "Now, now, Jace. Remember the rules of our little bargain. Clary does as she's told or it's you who pays the price." His eyes landed on Clary who glared out from behind Jace's arms. He twisted his lips into a smile so vile it made Clary flinch. "Come here, Clary. I'm your brother, so it's my job to protect you, and I don't want you getting…_fondled_." He laughed and cut Jace's horse off.

Clary thought of clinging to Jace for protection, but she remembered that _she _was supposed to be the one protecting _him_. Carefully, she unwound Jace's arms and slid from the saddle, though Jace was holding her as tightly as he could.

Her footsteps were heavy as she joined her brother in the saddle, and when he fit his arms around her, forcing her to sit straight, he grinned like a wolf. Clary felt his arms like bands of steel and longed for the warmth Jace had offered. Once they started off again, Jonathan whispered quietly in her ear so Jace couldn't hear. Whispered horrible things about what he was going to do to her and Jace if she didn't completely obey him. He drew images in her head: Jace, his back striped from a whip. Her, beaten until she couldn't walk. And if she jerked away, and he'd strike her across the face.

They arrived at Morgenstern Manor in this fashion, and when they were level with the steps, Clary sprung off the saddle and waited for Jace. He joined her and pulled her away from Jonathan and into the house. They were greeted by a stern looking man who bowed low and directed them to their rooms. Up a flight of stairs and down a hall, and Jace and Clary had to unlock their arms go their separate ways.

Jace felt her arms unravel and slink over to her room. He listened closely for the sound of Jonathan and then entered his room. The sight he met in his room was the one thing he'd never expected. He stood in the doorway watching the young man unpack the clothes Valentine had sent ahead of him, and waited.

"Alec!"


	5. In the Cards

Chapter Five: In the Cards

Seeing Jace framed in a doorway, golden eyes dark, blond hair wild and too-grown, and a frown creasing his face brought a flush of shame to Alec's cheeks. He knew what Jace must be seeing. His best friend, practically his brother, bent in work, dressed as a servant. He couldn't find his voice, so simply tipped his head and put a shirt down on the bed.

"Alec!" Jace said again, this time stepping into the room and fixing him with a penetrating stare. "What are you doing here?"

A closer view of Jace showed what Alec had feared. His hair was limp, cheek bones more pronounced, bags under his eyes, a tired slump to his shoulders. Jace looked more like a slave than he did. Well almost. Jace could at least claim clean clothes and washed hair to his name. Whoever was caring for Jace was providing for him.

"Alec, where's Izzy?" Jace asked again, trying to get some sort of answer.

It took only a moment for Alec to spot Jace's hands, which her wrapped in bandages. The awkward way Jace held them only made Alec more aware of the obvious pain he was in. And then Alec spotted the scares on his arms, ragged and deep, and the wariness in Jace's eyes, like he was expecting someone to descend on him at any moment.

"Hey, Alec, it's me, Jace."

His voice was the same though, just tempered a little by some torment. At least that had remained the same. Alec was reminded strongly of the Jace he had met when they were children and Valentine had just faked his death. Whoever was caring for Jace wasn't above the casual smack across the face.

"Valentine adopted you?" he guessed at once.

Something in Jace flinched at the name. "No, not in that sense." He marched in and glanced around and noted that everything in the room was new, obviously given to him by Valentine. "I see Valentine provides again."

"You said-"

"I'm not his son," Jace said sharply and Alec bit his lip. "Where's Izzy?"

"In the room down the hall," shrugged Alec. "Jace what happened to you after the fight against Valentine? You just went missing, vanished. I was beginning to think Valentine might have killed you."

"Killed me?" Jace laughed darkly. "That wouldn't serve his purpose, now would it?"

"Purpose?" The frown was more pronounced on Alec's face now. "What did he want you for?"

For a moment, it looked like Jace might reply, but he couldn't. He clamped his teeth down on the words, thinking of Clary, delicate Clary, who couldn't defend herself against her father if he was mad. He couldn't tell the truth, not with Clary in so much danger.

"I don't know," he admitted, not catching Alec's eye. "Listen, can we go find Izzy and Clary. Jonathan's around here somewhere." Jace dropped his small pack on the ground carelessly and gestured out the door. "Coming?"

Alec left his work and drew up to Jace, and he noticed more clearly the bandages on Jace's hands. They returned to the hall, and Alec asked as nonchalantly as possible, "What happened to your hands?"

Again, Jace considered the truth, and then what it would mean for Clary if he spoke too much. "Sparing accident."

"Hmm," Alec said, not believing a word of it. _Someone _had gone out of their way to hurt Jace, and he had a good idea as to who it was. "Izzy is in there."

It turned out "there" was Clary's room, and then two were seated on her bed, talking in hushed voices. When Jace and Alec entered, Isabelle leapt up and flung herself at Jace, embracing him wildly. Jace rolled back on his arches and managed to cough out a hello. Isabelle was embarrassed to note that tears prickled her eyes.

"I've been so worried," she sighed, pulling back and taking in Jace's worn figure. "We had no idea what Valentine had done with you. I was afraid he'd killed you, or worse." Her eyes rested on his hands, and she frowned all over. "What happened to your hands?"

"Sparring accident," he said gruffly.

Isabelle pulled back, forcing Jace to look into her eyes. She pressed her lips into a severe line and said sternly, "Oh, really? A sparring accident? Could that be the same _sparring accident _that left Clary with the bruise on her cheek?"

Jace and Clary met eye to eye in stunned silence. They could tell the truth, and risk Valentine's fury, or just pretend they had no idea what was going on. Clary jumped to an answer before Jace could. She did hope that the two might catch the hint she made, but what they could do, Clary had no idea.

"Yes, yes we did."

A cold quiet descended, and Isabelle squeezed Jace's arms comfortingly. "I've been telling Clary about Alec and me since we'd last seen each other." She drew Jace over to the bed and Clary made room for him. "It's been rather interesting."

Jace relaxed a little and listened to her story, his face gradually darkening as it unfolded. Alec looked at his feet uncomfortably and Clary looked ready to burst into tears. When Isabelle finished, Jace stared at Alec, who hadn't said a word as to what had befell him. Alec shifted uncomfortably and finally met Jace's accusations.

"That's how _we_ ended up here," he said simply. "So how did you?"

"A horse," Jace replied, and Clary froze against him. "What-?"

"You know, I thought servants were supposed to work, not sit on their asses all day telling tales." Jonathan entered the room like a dark cloud on a sunny day. "Jace, Clary, we need to have a chat downstairs."

Isabelle flinched when she saw him, and her face darkened drastically. That was the bastard who'd murdered her bother, who'd taken away that innocent little life. For a moment, she saw Max smile in her mind's eye, and then it was sucked out of her. Jonathan seemed to know what she was thinking, because he grinned widely at her pain.

"Ah yes, the Lightwood runts," he purred, and he snapped his fingers at Jace and Clary. "I said, come."

"They're not dogs," Alec muttered.

"Shows what you know," snarled Jonathan. He leveled Clary with a fierce stare. "Coming, little sister?"

"Yes, Jonathan," sighed Clary, and she rose and crossed the room to her brother. She heard Jace rise and join her a second later. "We'll be back soon, guys," she said over her shoulder.

"I wouldn't count on that," murmured Jonathan in her ear.

Alec and Isabelle watched the door close and felt the emptiness in the room more acutely. So Jace and Clary were back in their life, albeit, in a strange lord-servant relationship. Isabelle recalled the bruise on Clary's cheek and the bandages all over Jace's hands. She frowned.

"Sparing incident." She shook her head to her brother. "I think we found their sparring partner."

Clary gasped as Jonathan brought his hand down on her delicate cheek bone and into her hair. She should have known she had this coming. Jonathan dragged her by her hair down the halls, Jace struggling to free her the whole way. Clary beat at his hands, but that didn't loosen the grip on her hair, and when Jonathan pulled her down the steps and into a private study, she knew where she'd rather be.

"When I tell you to come, I expect you to come," said Jonathan, indifferent to her pain. He surveyed her with a smirk, and then glanced at Jace. "And are you happy, step brother? You're old friends all around you?"

"What have you done with them?" he demanded.

"Made them ideal servants, no?" he laughed and saw Clary creeping along the wall. "I just need to set the ground rules, and then you two are free to explore the manor. So, little sister, pay close attention." Clary grimaced and stopped trying to escape her brother. "You will rise in the morning and continue rune practice. Later on, when we can find a tutor, you will also be taught how to run a household in the morning. After that, you'll be given a short lunch, followed by foreign language study, and then mathematics. You do need an hour of recreational study, though. I suggest you play to your strengths and continue drawing, seeing as it's the only thing you're good at. You'll do that for as long as I deem fit. Afterward, you'll go outside for swordplay and equestrian study." Jonathan saw the shock on her face at all she had to learn. "Only after all that will you return inside to eat dinner and do your reading."

"And who decided my daily routine?" Clary asked sarcastically.

"Father, along with consideration from Mother. It's the only way to teach you what you need to know and not be behind in your education."

"I'll have no life!" Clary protested.

Jonathan lunged and kneed Clary in the gut. She doubled up and had to cling to his legs to stop from collapsing to the ground. "You're lucky to have a life right now!"

"Stop it!" croaked Jace. "You're hurting her."

"I intend to, little Jace," he said over Clary's gasps. "You must be wondering what will become of you, no?" Jonathan began to pet Clary's head as he examined Jace. Jace swallowed and eyed the little red-haired girl worriedly. "Valentine had to think long over you. For now, you will be given certain duties around the house until he returns. Then, you will serve him directly, as a personal assistant."

Jace choked on his protests when Jonathan stopped petting Clary and glared pointedly at him. "Fine. Can we go now?" Since childhood, Jace had developed a good sense of the tension a person radiated. His skin was prickling and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end; it wasn't a good sign. "You don't need us."

One deep breath, as if to calm himself, and Jonathan gazed lovingly at Clary. "I suppose you two can situate yourselves. But don't let me catch you talking to those servants again." Clary broke his grasp and tumbled into Jace's welcoming arms.

"The _Lightwoods_," Jace hissed, pulling Clary upright, "raised me since I was ten. I'm not gonna treat them like garbage."

"You're going to, Jace," warned Jonathan, "or I'll have them removed from our service, and sent back to that rundown home for orphans. And I don't think they want to go back there."

"You don't have the authority." Jace narrowed his eyes to sparks of gold.

"You really think so?"

Clary spotted that little smirk, the one that was usually followed by some horrible revelation, cross her brother's face. She thought of Isabelle and Alec, two lost children trying to recover from a living nightmare. She took Jace's hand and tugged him away.

"Come on, Jace, we can explore the rest of this place." Clary jerked Jace once and threw open the door of the study. "I want to look around before I eat."

"Right," he murmured as Clary pulled him along, and then shrugged off Jonathan's glare.

They got out into the hallway and Clary clutched her stomach and keeled over, leaning against Jace. "You're gonna have to help me with this work load, you know?"

Absently, Jace rubbed her back and nodded. "Yeah, I know."

She straightened and met his eyes sadly. "I didn't think my father could be so cruel about the Lightwoods. I'm sorry."

"He planned this all out," Jace snarled as he crossed the hall and returned to the stairs. "I don't know why it would help, but he planned it all out. Having Isabelle and Alec here can't be good for them or us. They're in danger."

* * *

Clary and Jace returned to their rooms, but Alec and Isabelle were gone, shadows of a thought. It was probably for the better that way, Jace thought, because as long as they didn't know the truth, they were safe. Clary wanted so badly to break down and cry, to let the secret out, and Isabelle and Alec would be the two perfect people for it. Isabelle would fume and curse and vow revenge, and Alec would be sympathetic and consoling. She wanted them back, but only God knew what Valentine would do if Clary started telling people what her father did to her.

In the end, they explored their rooms, which were thoroughly clean. They were on opposite sides of the carpeted hall, each offering a fair view, one out onto the courtyard and garden in the back, the other staring into the gravel curved drive and graceful front yard. Each room had two rectangular windows that opened upon a flower box, a bed with built in bookshelf on the headboard, a dresser tightly packed with clothing, a wardrobe hung with finery, a desk, wooden chest, and a shelf attached to the wall. They were homey and plain, and everything in them belonged to Valentine, which he had seen fit to gift to Clary and Jace. They both knew that despite the illusion, they belonged even more to Valentine now. In one instant, he could snatch it all back.

After their rooms were meticulously investigated, they joined back up and wandered down the wood-paneled halls. The manor house offered plenty of rooms, most finer than Jace and Clary's. They came across the bathroom with its antique tub and perfectly folded towels. One the next floor, there was a single hall, short and bending. Most of the doors were locked but for two: a bathroom and the largest bedroom yet, assumedly, Valentine's room. The pressing silence urged Clary away from that end of the hall, and Jace followed her out; they'd both learned painful lessons at Valentine's hands.

Clary wanted to find the kitchen, a vital bit of knowledge once Valentine decided to stop feeding her. If she could befriend the cooks and servers, she might stand a better chance sneaking food. So she dragged Jace down to the bottom floor and through a pristine dinning room. Through a set of wooden double doors was the kitchen, which was bustling with activity. The moment they showed up, though, a cook pushed them back out with a smile and a muffin each. Apparently the kitchen was no place for two children of such high rank.

Jace wanted to scour the library once more, in search of a good book to help Clary get ahead on rune study, but Jonathan's voice echoed from its depths. Together, they retreated from the door and scrambled for the outside world. It was better outside, they both decided, where they weren't confined to schedules or violent brothers.

On the front lawn, gardeners tended to plants, and shot dark looks at children running over their fine grass. Clary followed the flower beds to the side of the house and slowly to the back, where a small courtyard was nestled against the house. A cobblestone path flanked on both sides by flower-fingered trees and blankets of blossoms led to an opening with table and fountain. In that small space, Clary realized just how close she was to Jace.

"It's private here," she commented into their corner.

"A good place to do your work away from Valentine or Jonathan," Jace agreed. He admired a few of the medicinal plants that grew in cloves by the fountain. "A nice place to eat, too."

"Just a nice place," she murmured, and then caught his hand to hers. "I don't want Valentine or Jonathan finding this place. I want it to be my place, our place."

Jace pulled Clary into his arms and fingered the bruise on her cheek. "We'll keep it to ourselves then. You know, Clary, that was the one nice thing about living in the country when I was younger. It's private, peaceful." His face darkened. "But it was also a place filled with secrets. Most of them bad. You'll learn to love it and hate it."

Somewhere inside, a bell actually rang. Clary giggled at the thought. She'd never been called into dinner with a bell before. She could almost imagine herself as a child, in this manor, but in a world where her father didn't beat her and her mother didn't ignore her. She could see herself, and Jace, running to the bell and laughing as they piled into the house, sweaty and dirt ridden from a day spent playing in the sun. Her father would swing her about in the air and ruffle Jace's hair, and her mother would bring out the feast and make them clean up before dinner.

But that just wasn't in the cards.

What was in the cards was Jace and Clary retracing their steps and finding their way inside. They reached the dining room and Jonathan snarled at them to wash their faces and hands before they even thought of eating. And by the time they'd washed, Jonathan had already prepared their plates with meager servings of turkey, potatoes, and broccoli. They ate and wished they were anywhere but there, and then Jonathan told them to go to bed. It had to be eight at night, and Jonathan told them to go to bed. Clary was staggered and Jace uncomfortable.

"Why so early?" Clary asked.

"Because you're rising early tomorrow, and I won't listen to you whine and moan all day long." His eyes darkened somehow and he snatched a glance at Jace, who could be beaten and not impede Clary's ability to learn. "Get your ass in bed."

"I'll take your plate, Clary," said Jace and stacked it on his. As he reached past her for the plate, he whispered, "I'll meet you in your room. Go."

Jace vanished with the plate, and Clary sped out of the room before Jonathan could call her back. She got to her room and was disappointed when Alec or Isabelle didn't show up. She changed swiftly and sat on the bed, admiring the intricate design of blanket. After a few minutes, Jace entered and flopped down on the bed next to her.

"Do me a favor tonight, Clary, and lock your door from the inside." He rubbed her leg and said again, "Lock the door."


	6. The Country Life

Chapter Six: The Country Life

Maybe it was that the door was locked, or maybe it was just some other reason, but Clary woke the next morning without interruption. She felt the warm sunlight slink into the room and tickle her nose, her lips, her eyelids, her ears. It was a perfect morning to just snuggle under the covers and lounge around, that's what she would have done if she'd been in New York in her apartment.

But the incessant pounding on the door reminded her that she was in the country. Her eyes snapped open and that little bit of sleep she'd been clinging to was ripped away. Clary tumbled out of bed and fought off the blankets to the door. She flipped the lock by the handle and the door swung to.

It was Isabelle, and she looked harried and tired. Her black hair, once sleek and shiny, was pulled back into a messy bun, little hair strings hanging out. There were lines under her eyes and her skin had a dirty sheen to it. Her lips quirked at the sight of Clary, but whatever she was going to say caught in her throat.

"Morning, Izzy," Clary said happily. It was good to see a friend in such a horrible place. "You look tired."

Isabelle nodded in agreement and entered the room with a bowed head. "I'm here to get you ready for your morning lessons. Next time, please, don't lock the door." She eyed Clary's rumpled appearance. "You'll need to hurry up and get dressed. I'll find something suitable."

Clary watched, mouth agape, as Isabelle Lightwood, the most stubborn and proud girl she knew, walked slowly away, head still down, and began to flip through the clothing she had put away. She pulled out a pair of pants, and a loose shirt.

"Clary, what are you doing?" she asked, glaring at her. "Go wash your face and come back here. You have to be downstairs in ten minutes."

"I-I-"

"I was sent to get you ready for the day. Since you're not dressed, I figure we should start there. Please, go wash your face. You should bathe after you've finished your lessons."

Clary nodded and stumbled away from the room and down the hall to the bathroom. She flushed her face with cool water and then gazed at herself in the mirror. The ugly bruise on her cheek still stood out prominently. Her eyes were glassy and wide, and she was sure they were darker.

When she got back to her room, Isabelle had remade her bed and thrown open the windows to their fullest. A fresh breeze rolled in, and Clary just wanted to hide under the cover. Isabelle came up to her and admired her clean face and smiled sadly.

"Clary," she said slowly, "I know you hate this, but-" Isabelle glanced out the door and shuddered. "Alec and I can't go back to-to our home. This place is better for us than where we came from. If we don't do as we're told, we're fired."

Clary narrowed her eyes. "Is it worse than here?"

Isabelle laughed wildly for a moment, thinking of that terrible place. "Oh, yes, for us it is. So, please, I know you don't like it, and I hate it, but this is how we're going to have to behave."

"Did Jonathan say that?" Clary demanded. It sounded like something Jonathan would say. "Did he threaten you?"

"Clary, just get dressed!" She tossed her the clothes and then headed into the hall to wait.

Clary shrugged off her clothing and slid into the jeans and the tight shirt Isabelle had chosen. It felt restricting, painfully almost, for Clary to have to dress and join Isabelle in the hall. She led Clary to the dining hall where she was allowed to pluck an apple from the table, and then bustled into the library to where a private table sat, Jonathan waiting for her there.

"You're late, little sister," he said gruffly, and then spotted Isabelle. "I'll hold you accountable for this, Lightwood. I gave you a simple task, and that was to wake her up on time, and you go and bungle the whole thing? What kind of useless degenerate are you-"

"It was my fault, Jonathan," Clary cut in. "I locked the door and then slept in late. She got me ready in time though, without her, I wouldn't be standing here now."

Jonathan glowered at Isabelle. "Leave, and if you fail in your duties again I'll have you whipped."

"You can't-"

"Yes, sir," Isabelle murmured and then left with her brown eyes lingering on Clary.

When she was gone and the door closed softly behind her, Clary turned on Jonathan. "I thought only Father would be giving me lessons? Are you qualified to do this?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and rose from his chair. "Father put me in charge of you. Get your ass in the chair and start copying ruins or I'll take a belt to _your_ back." He slammed a book down on the table and then slid a notebook to her. "I'll be back in an hour."

Clary sputtered when Jonathan ruffled her hair and twisted it about painfully. When he let go and she could seat herself, he waited until she had opened the notebook and flipped to the marked page before leaving her to her work. The ruins Clary had been assigned her simple ones, ones her father had already had her learn. So she would be reviewing until Valentine showed up. Clary's hands still remembered the strokes, so she labeled each page with the name of the ruin and repeated it until there was no room on the paper. With twenty ruins to memorize it was going to take Clary an hour.

When she'd finished the work, Clary got up and rubbed her hands. The library was silent and the air thick. She wandered about through the books, admiring titles and thick bound leather. There was a book on a high shelf, the gold wording catching her eyes, which she pulled down. It was an extensive history of Idris, and the detailing in the illustrations was exquisite.

In the light on the table, Clary could admire the pictures fully. A drawing of the skyline in Idris popped from the page. The towers and glittering buildings were so real Clary thought she could fall into the page. Another was of Lyn Lake, its subtle beauty and danger. Clary recalled her capture there and drew away from the picture. A few more pages and the Soul Sword commanded the attention on one page. It was breathtaking, the work that went into each picture.

"What are you doing?" bellowed a voice, and Clary snapped up from the book.

"Jonathan!" Clary jumped up, and regretted it, feeling like a frightened child. "Has it been an hour already?"

He smiled wickedly. "Why yes, little sister, it has. And I hope you've utilized the hour to learn all your ruins, because a mistake now may prove deadly." He spotted the book and lifted a brow. "Did I say you could get that book?"

"No, but-"

"Are you in a history lesson?"

"No-"

"Does the history of Idris have anything to do with ruin study?"

"Not exactly-"

He wrenched the book off the table and advanced on her. "I gave you a simple order, and you couldn't even obey that? You're lucky I have a tight schedule, or I'd flay you." Clary doubted he was lying. "It's time to see if you've learned anything at all." He looked over his shoulder and waved at the door. "Get in here."

A fist knotted in Clary's stomach when she saw Jace strut in. If Jace was involved in anything she was doing, it couldn't be good. She looked with confused eyes at Jonathan, who signaled Jace over to the table. Jace shrugged, glanced at Clary, and leaned back against the table.

"You're going to assist me, Jace, in Clary's lesson. Take your shirt off." Jonathan flipped through Clary's work, and then frowned when Jace hadn't moved. "I said, _take your shirt off_."

"Any particular reason you want to see my chest?" Jace smirked.

Jonathan knotted his fist so tightly in Jace's hair that a hank ripped out. "If I tell you to do something, you do it! Take your shirt off or I'll do it for you."

When he let go, Jace nursed his sore scalp and glowered, but he undid the buttons on his shirt and slid it off. Clary noticed uncomfortably that there was a myriad of wounds on his back. Scars-not inflicted with a stele-whip lashes, burns, and bruises. Someone had mistreated him badly, and he wouldn't tell her who.

"Clary, you're going to mark Jace up," her brother said simply. "I'm going to tell you what ruins I want, and you're going to draw them. If you can mark him correctly, and without causing him too much pain, you pass." He slowly withdrew a stele. "If you fail, I'll be marking you myself, and not with a stele." With a feigned reluctance, Jonathan handed her the stele and then spun Jace about so his back was to Clary.

"It's easy, Clary," Jace promised. "You know how to draw. The trick it not to cut too deep."

Jonathan flicked Jace's nose. "You don't get to give her tips. Clary, begin with a silencing ruin, one to make him walk without noise."

Clary licked her lips and raised the blade tentatively to Jace's back. She saw his muscles tense when he sensed her close, but then relax when she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. For a moment, she fretted over slicing his skin, she could see it in her mind, cutting him so deeply blood poured out of him. She wished the wounds on his back weren't there.

But then, Jace's back turned into a canvas and Clary felt her hand moving. When she drew back to admire her work, she saw a perfect ruin adorning his back. Clary smiled and waved her brother over. Jonathan observed the ruin, obviously disappointed that she hadn't messed up the ruin.

"Congratulations," he snapped. "You've only got nineteen more to do."

It was tense hour, because it did take an hour to finish, and by the end, Jonathan's hate for her won out. The last ruin, a healing ruin, was slightly marred, so only a few of Jace's wounds vanished. Pleased that she ruined one mark, Jonathan patted Jace's back and pushed him into the table.

"You know that's not good enough, Clary," he said to her. "Do you know what that means?"

Clary's mouth went dry, but Jace shouted, "Oh, come on. She messed up one ruin, and it still worked pretty well. You can't punish her for that."

"I can, and I intend to. Valentine expects perfection, Clary." He glanced at Jace, who was rolling his shoulders and trying to rub an itchy ruin. "Jace, you can go back to the kitchen where I found you."

"I'm not leaving Clary with you-"

"Jace, just go." Clary leveled him with a stare. "I'll see you later."

His eyes widened, but he saw by the tension in her back, that she meant for him to leave. Jace frowned, but left before things could escalate any higher. He slipped out of the library and into the hall, listening carefully for any sign that he should go back in. But, as Jace didn't hear any screams or snarls, he headed for the kitchen, where Jonathan had ordered him.

It was a strange request, to work in the kitchen. It allowed him the luxury of food and drink and the ability to make friends with the serving staff. He'd already charmed a young maid with one of his smiles, and he could be friendly enough with the other serving staff. Of course, that left him to wonder what chores Valentine was planning for him. Well, for now, it was perfect.

A warm smell met him when he entered the kitchen, and he ducked down and made his way back to the counter where he'd been kneading bread. The maid, Tessa, was still there, a hopeful look in her eye. She smiled wryly at him as he joined her, and when he bent carefully to ask her question, she shivered.

"What did I miss?" he asked directly into her ear.

A flush worked into her cheeks. "Nothing, nothing."

Jace nodded, as if he liked that, and then went back to work for a while. Tessa seemed acutely aware of him, and she made little noises, squeaks or huffs, that should have drawn his attention, but Jace was preoccupied. He was halfway through his work when his arm convulsed as a reaction to the ruins. He gasped and then clenched his muscles to stop the tremors. Tessa panicked in the way girls do when they want to look scared and faint.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" she gasped.

Jace watched his arm strain and then relax. It made him think of Clary. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"What happened?" Tessa delicately took his arm in her hands, marveling at the tone. "Are you sure you're fine?"

"I'm just a little-Clary!" Jace's eyes widened when he saw the little redhead standing in the kitchen door. She smiled weakly and shrugged. He raced around the counter and caught her up in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Jonathan said that since is didn't have a tutor, I should just go and see how to run a kitchen. And here I am, and here are you." She raised her eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

"Working." He showed her the powder on his hands. "Until Valentine shows up I'm on kitchen duty. Small world."

Clary peered over his shoulder and saw Tessa spying on them. She gently tugged Jace away from the counter, and over to the stove. "Are you okay? Did the ruins end up hurting you?"

He smiled weakly and hefted his arm that was shaking. "Only a little." Jace's eyes scanned her face for the telltale sign of a bruise. "What did Jonathan do to you?"

Like a timid puppy, Clary jumped and then rubbed her arms awkwardly. "Nothing…" She saw the skepticism in Jace's gold gaze. "Nothing _too_ bad."

"Clary," Jace sighed. He cupped her face in his hands and rubbed her cheeks. "What did he do?"

"It was nothing, just something to remind me to work harder." Clary turned her back on him to explore the kitchen, but Jace wouldn't be deterred. Clary threw her hands up and waved them in his face. "It was _nothing-_"

Jace caught her palms and peered closely at them. He wasn't blind enough that he couldn't see the slashes between her fingers. The delicate skin in the crannies of her hands was sliced open with a fine tipped blade, and any movement in her hands would easily cause pain. Clary shrugged off his look of concern.

"_This_, is nothing?" he asked, tenderly massaging her hands.

"Not as bad as it seems, please, Jace, let me look around. Jonathan expects me to have a good understanding of how the kitchen works. I need to know where everything is." She caught his eye. "Show me around."

Jace led Clary through the kitchen and then sat her at the counter. "You need to eat."

"So do you," Clary pointed out, but Jace just vanished and returned with a plate full of bread and cheese. He found a cup and filled with something like wine and pulled two chairs up. Clary could've cried for all the kindness Jace was showing her. "Have a little, I can't finish it all."

"No, you have a long day ahead of you, you're going to keep your strength up. After this, what do you have to do?"

"Foreign language and mathematics." She shuddered painfully because Clary had never been great at math. "I have a feeling I'm going to need help there."

Jace nodded and stared at his own hands. "Just come to me after your lessons."

Clary was about to tell him how grateful she was when Tessa arrived, eyeing Jace with slight annoyance. "Are you taking a break right now?" She shot a glance at Clary. "Who are you?"

"Yes, just a slight break." Jace smiled up at her with all his wry charm. Tessa fought a coy grin, but it broke through. "This is Clary Morgenstern."

The name seemed to jog something in Tessa because she stuttered and stumbled into a bow. This was Valentine's daughter! "I wasn't aware you were living here."

"Yes," Clary said stiffly, and she twined her fingers in Jace's.

"Oh, then I'll-I'll just get back to the ovens…" She looked meaningfully at Jace, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

With Tessa gone, the two ate in silence. It was peaceful enough for Clary, who hated raised voices and deadly silences. The kitchen was full of people who were cooking, cleaning, stirring, roasting, slicing, and eating food. It wasn't violent noise, but it was enough to calm Clary. She could sit by Jace and enjoy his warmth and protective eyes, and when Jonathan arrived, she knew it couldn't stay that way.

"Again, I find you two tucked together, enjoying your privacy and company." He sneered when he saw Jace, who was almost ready to jump up and attack him. All he could think of was Clary's little hands, slit open, oozing, festering. She didn't deserve that.

"What do you want? What the hell do you _want_?" he snarled, and pressed Clary against him. Everyone in the kitchen looked over. "Do you have to follow her around, stealing away even one moment of peace!" He was fuming, standing, while Clary scrambled to pull him back down. Just the thought of Jonathan's anger was enough to terrify her.

"No, Jace, for the love of god, _no_!" Clary begged.

"Why do you have to hurt Clary? She's your sister!" He took a step toward Jonathan before Clary could catch him. "Are you just jealous? Or are you really just a heartless bastard?"

The silence in the kitchen was the kind Clary hated. The kind that signaled a terrible punishment. She found her feet and snatched Jace's arm desperately. But one look into Jonathan's face, dark and calculating, and she knew it was too late. Jace was going to be punished, in fact, she'd probably share that punishment.

"Heartless bastard, am I? Oh, little brother, I'll show you just how much of a heartless bastard I am." He looked at the people in the kitchen. "You can all go back to work, I am afraid, though, that I'll be taking Jace out of here for a while."

Clary and Jace gapped, and then Jonathan had them both by the hair, and he was dragging them through the kitchen. Every chance he got, every table corner or wall or counter they passed, Jonathan bashed them into it. He got them into the hall, and all the servants who were working, came rushing to see what was making the racket. Clary caught Jace's eyes and saw them narrow in humiliation.

Jonathan led Jace and Clary outside, into the back. He dragged them through the beautiful garden, still clutching their hair, and came to a halt before a line of trees. For a minute, he examined both of them, and then shook Jace. Clary was thrown to the ground and watched while Jonathan took his belt off and then forced Jace to stand before one of the trees.

"Take your shirt off, little brother," he said. Jace contemplated refusing, and from the corner of his eye, saw Clary crumpled on the ground. He removed his shirt and tossed it aside. "Good, now stand there and wait."

Jonathan took Jace's wrists and lashed them together with his belt. He gave a tug, checking to see that the knot wouldn't break, and then patted his shoulder. He found Clary's eyes, and smiled wickedly.

"If you leave, Jace will receive your punishment as well."

Clary blinked and nodded, and Jonathan left, heading toward the barn. In the windows of the manor house, Clary could see faces peering out. She cringed away from the judgmental eyes. Jace, who was leaning against the tree, knew what was coming, and was trying to set his teeth against a scream that was going to come. He had to control himself now. For Clary.

Jonathan returned, strutting across the green expectantly. Clary thought he looked extremely pleased about something. She scanned his figure, but he looked the same. Then she saw the whip in his hand.

Jace held it together till almost the end. Twenty lashes, that was his punishment. At fifteen, Jace threw his head back and gasped. At eighteen, he groaned. At twenty, he screamed. Clary hated watching it, wanted to turn away, but she knew if she did, Jonathan would stop and make her watch. The sound of a whip tearing flesh was sickening. Clary could remember her father using his belt once, but it was different from a horsewhip. It was going to hurt more with the whip.

There was blood all over the ground, pouring off Jace's back, and he was shaking. When it was over, Jonathan flicked the whip and approached Jace and ran a finger up his back, right along a whiplash. Jace shuddered and leaned against the tree trunk. His back was on fire. He'd forgotten what it was like to be whipped. He shouldn't have.

"Now, Jace, I hope you've learned from this." He reached out and undid the belt. Jace's hands were chafed from where he'd pulled on the belt. "You're going to stand there, where Clary is now, and watch me finish out lesson."

Jace leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. Clary…Jonathan was going to finish the punishment…With Clary…

"No," he croaked. "Whatever you're going to do to her, do to me."

"This time," Jonathan murmured sweetly, "there is no option. All of this is punishment for you. You are never going to speak to me like that again. And I know how much you love Clary."

Jace wanted to say no, scream it, curse it, but Jonathan moved quicker than he could. Jonathan had Clary by her shirt. Just as he'd done with Jace, he told her to take her shirt off. Clary paused, but Jonathan shook her until she undid the shirt and laid it on the ground. That in itself was enough to shame her, but Jonathan took her wrists and tied them together.

The first time the whip cracked across her back was enough to make her whimper. She was sure no one heard, but just the fact that she'd given in so easily was pathetic. Each lash felt like someone driving a knife into her, and she wanted to scream. But Jace was there, and he'd feel her pain a thousand times over. She wouldn't put Jace through that torture.

When Jonathan finished with her, she stumbled away from the tree, tears running down her face. She hugged herself, coving her bare chest, and then crumpled to the ground. Her back was torn apart, skin ripped from bone. Clary heaved deep breaths, each one, painful. Her face was ducked, away from the people who were observing the spectacle.

Jonathan made them both stand then. He told them it was punishment for Jace's outburst, that Jace would never humiliate him again. Jace's face fell and he sighed. Then, Jonathan told them their punishment wasn't over yet. He told them to go, back to the house and up to highest floor. Clary balked, but Jace gathered up his shirt and gave it to her. She couldn't wear it, so she covered her front and walked stiffly with Jace up to the house.

No one was in the hall when they entered, but it didn't mean they weren't watching. It was humiliating, degrading, to walk up all those stairs, half naked, their backs striped with blood. When they finally reached the highest level, they waited, each shaking and gasping.

When Jonathan joined them, he led them to a door tucked away in a nook and unlocked it. It was a stairwell, a stairwell that led to the attic. He explained that for the next week and a half, they would be locked up there. They would not come down, they would not call for help, they would not do anything to draw attention. He threw the door open wide and he gestured them up.

"But, where are we supposed to go to the bathroom-"

"Go!" bellowed Jonathan, and banged the wall. Jace grabbed Clary and pulled her into the stairwell. "Don't worry, little ones, the days will go by in no time."

Clary rasped out a plea, but Jonathan slammed the door on her voice. She cringed into Jace's arms and he breathed in the smell of her hair. They both looked away from the door gradually. High up, miles it seemed, was the faint light from the attic.


	7. Attic

Chapter Seven: Attic

It hurt to walk, to move at all, but Jace and Clary couldn't stay pressing against each other in the stairwell. Together they began the stiff march up the stairs. As they went, they felt the temperature drop drastically, and a terrible chill was soon added to the stinging from their backs. Clary clung onto Jace like a leech, and he grit his teeth when Clary's hand found an open sore on his back.

At the top of the stairs, the two got the first look at their new accommodations. As the manor house was huge, so was the attic. It stretched for what Clary, in her confused and wounded condition, thought was miles. At the far end, great windows gave a view of the world, and along the way were stacks of old books, chests full of ancient clothing, armoires with dusted over mirrors, broken tables, piles of chairs, and any number of strange or peculiar things. A cold breeze billowed through the attic, and even in the end summer, it chilled Jace and Clary to the marrow.

Absently, Clary knew she'd have to put on Jace's shirt. Luckily, it was a button up top and a little big in the chest. The light cloth stung, but she breathed through the pain and stared into the dark billowy room.

"At least we have lots of room up here," Jace huffed, and gently led Clary on. "Come on, Clary, let's find something we can…sleep on."

The two began to explore the attic cautiously, eyes peering into the dark like pinpricks. Jace offered Clary as much support as he could, but it wasn't support that Clary needed. She needed to be cared for, loved, told everything was going to be okay. The attic, dark and terrifying and cold, wasn't easing the pain in her back.

"There," Jace said suddenly, pointing in a corner. "There's a mattress over there. We could sleep on that."

And it was a mattress, lumpy and cold, with a few springs breaking through of the fabric. It was also tucked away under a chest, a promise stolen from them before they could even touch it. How were they supposed to get the mattress when they could barely move from pain?

"You and I are gonna have to push the chest off, and it might hurt," Jace said to Clary. "But then we can lie down and clean the lashes."

Clary gawked at the chest, which looked extremely heavy, and then clutched Jace's hand. "Can't we just lie on the floor or something?"

"It'll only hurt worse tomorrow," he warned, and shook his head. "No, we probably want this mattress. Come on, just a few minutes of pain."

It _was_ a few minutes of pain, but for Clary, a few hours. Her back strained under the weight and she was gasping and crying and trying to not to collapse on the ground. Jace grit his teeth against the searing fire on his back and threw all his weight against the chest. There was a creak and the chest tumbled off the mattress and crashed to the floor, breaking apart. Clary and Jace both tumbled onto the mattress and lay there for a minute, just breathing in the rancid smell of old fabric.

"If we find some linens or something, this won't be too bad to sleep on," Jace suggested, rolling over and sitting up. "Maybe a few blankets. It's bound to be cold."

"How about those?" Clary pointed to where the chest had fallen, and out of it poured a few moth-bitten sheets.

It took the combined work of Jace and Clary to get a single sheet over the mattress. There were three extra sheets, all of them thin and dotted with holes, but Clary and Jace were going to have to use them as blankets. Jace told Clary to make the bed while he further explored the attic.

It was gloomy and cold, from what Jace saw. He crawled up to the windows, and creaked them open, and a fresh breeze rolled in to rustle his hair. Outside, the light was beginning to fade, and Jace realized they had no way to light the attic, no way to heat the attic. It was going to be a chilly night. When Jace returned, he saw Clary struggling with the mattress.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There's a vent over there, it blows out warm air. We'll need that tonight." She shoved harder and the mattress slid across the room to the vent.

Presently, Jace joined her and the two flopped down on the mattress and drew deep breaths. Up in the ceiling, things moved about, and Clary jumped closer to Jace. He met her eyes and smiled tiredly. Even the horrible circumstances, he still had his little Clary next to him.

"This is going to be over before you know it, Clary," he said quietly, and then wrapped his arm around her waist. "Up here at least Jonathan will leave us alone. And we can make this place habitable."

"I know but…you just can't do this to children," Clary murmured, tucking herself against Clary.

"We're not children, we're shadowhunters." He said this coldly, like he'd long since accepted this. "You have to be strong now because Valentine spots weakness like a hawk."

Outside, the light was almost faded, so Clary scoured the room for something to light. Maybe those were candles, but she didn't know, and frankly, she was just too tired. With Jace at her side, the two curled up on the bed, nursing their scarred backs and broken pride. It was a hard night, with paper thin blankets and a lumpy mattress, with the wind screaming through the walls and the pitch blankness. Their only consolation was each other. Their hands locked together tightly and they closed their eyes.

The next few days were the hardest. The morning brought bitter cold under the sheets and the reminder that they were locked in an attic like mice. They found that a tray of food was left at the bottom of the stairs, and beside it, a bucket filled with water and a sponge. In the biting cold, Jace gently sponged water into Clary torn skin, and then Clary, a little more clumsily, cleaned Jace's wounds. After washing and eating the peanut butter sandwiches, they explored the attic more, finding secret nooks and crannies filled with books and clothes and furniture. Clary, after raising the question of where they could use the bathroom, began searching for something to use. Jace found an old chamber pot and kicked is dismally.

"We'll make do," Clary sighed.

They hauled over piles of books to fill their time with, but mostly just sat and stared at them. It was hard to think about reading when every waking moment was shot through with sharp pain and humiliation. Jace wondered when someone was going to notice they were missing, and when they did, what would they do? Would someone come to their rescue? Or were they really going to have to wait until Valentine showed up?

During the middle of the day, when it was hottest, Jace would draw Clary over to the windows and they'd sit on sill, soaking in the sun and enjoying each others company. Clary, for all the despair she was sinking into, took a little joy in time they had. On the third day, sitting in the glowing sun, Clary reached out and kissed Jace, and they stayed locked like that until the sun sank.

By the end of the first week, Clary was padding the attic like a caged lion. "Do we really have to stay up here?" She pulled at her stringy dirty hair and glared at Jace. "When is Jonathan going to let us down? We're dying!"

Clary wasn't far from the mark. Without much light and fresh air, with two sandwiches a day, and the festering gashes on their backs, diseases were creeping into their bodies. Clary was lank and pale, her face hollow. Jace, who had just been released from three months of imprisonment, felt like the nightmare would never end. He vowed that if he ever did escape Valentine with Clary, he'd spend as much time as he could outside in the sun.

"He said when Valentine arrived. He's not here yet." Jace examined his hands which were covered in dust and dirt. "I hate to admit that I'm looking forward to his arriving. Sick, isn't it?"

Clary plonked down by Jace and twisted her arms around him. "What would Valentine think if he knew I wanted him?"

"He'd be more merciful than Jonathan," Jace hissed. "Your brother's a bastard."

Clary clung onto Jace and fought back tears. "I'm sorry for all this, Jace. I'm sorry I've done this to you."

* * *

Isabelle's dark eyes followed Jonathan's path down the stairs like a hawk. He had a smug smile on his face, like he was pleased, and that didn't sit well with Isabelle. He paused at the bottom of the stairs by the entrance door and dusted his shirt off. Isabelle sank back a little by the stairs so he wouldn't see her, and he whistled to himself. He _was_ pleased.

And she knew why.

Rumors traveled faster among the servants here than a vampire could run. She hadn't seen it, but she'd heard about it minutes after it happened. Jace said something smart, which didn't surprise her, to Jonathan. He got made, furious, dragged them out back, she'd heard. Then, he'd had them tied up to a tree and whipped them, that's what Elsie had whispered. And then, a kitchen maid said, Jonathan had sent them into the house where they'd vanished.

So, where were Jace and Clary gone to? What had Jonathan done to them after the whipping? Isabelle dug her nails into her palm and bit her lip. It didn't sit well with her to have Jace and Clary gone after such a painful punishment. He could be doing anything to them and no one would ever know.

"Isabelle," snapped a voice. She jumped up, and right into Jonathan. He'd come silently, unseen, right to her spot. Jonathan caught her wrists in midair and tugged her down. "What are you doing? Spying?"

Her mouth went dry for a moment as she stared into those black eyes. Jonathan smirked now, laughing at her. "I'm not spying!" she spat out. "Let me go!"

"What if I don't feel like it?" he snickered. "What if like this?"

"Where are Jace and Clary? What have you done with them?" she demanded, her wrists stinging.

"Nothing," he said sharply. "Nothing permanent."

"You're lying," she accused sharply. "Wherever they are, you're hurting them, torturing them-"

"Yes, I won't deny that. Jace and Clary are certainly wishing they hadn't disobeyed me now, but that's not the point." He shoved Isabelle against the wall and pressed himself against her. "What do you plan to do about it?"

Pinned by the man who had murdered her brother, Isabelle shivered and couldn't form words. She looked into those dark merciless eyes and wondered how Jace and Clary could suffer his anger. How did _they _combat that cruelty?

"I asked you a question," he pressed, and his breath brushed her cheek. "Answer, little servant."

Isabelle assembled all the courage she could and looked to the side as she spoke. "I'll do whatever I have to. Jace is my brother."

"I wouldn't say that unless you knew the lengths you'd have to go to save him. I intend to punish Jace severely, and unless you're willing to do anything…" His eyes gleamed at the implication.

Different parts of Isabelle's mind clamped down on that thought. What exactly did he mean? A cruel man might want her to suffer in Jace's place. Was he telling her that she could take his place? Was he daring her to help Jace, testing her loyalty to him? Jonathan was cruel enough.

But that hard look in his eyes made Isabelle rethink. Jonathan wasn't cruel, he was a sadist. He'd make her life miserable, somehow worse than it already was. But what could be worse than suffering for Jace?

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, eyes anywhere but on him.

"You'd do _anything_ for dear Jace?" sneered Jonathan.

"What did you have in mind?" Finally, Isabelle turned her gaze on him and saw indecision in his eyes. He wasn't sure what to do for once.

Jonathan measured Isabelle speculatively. He wanted to scare her, terrify her, prove that she wasn't ready to help Jace. He wanted Isabelle to admit she wouldn't do anything for Jace, wanted her to know she wasn't strong enough to help Jace. He needed to do something bad, horrible. Jace didn't deserve loyalty like that from a friend, he just deserved to rot in the attic like a dead rat.

"Something along these lines," he murmured, and then pressed his lips firmly against hers.

Isabelle could have screamed, she was screaming enough on the inside, but Jonathan's lips gagged her. His hands slid down her shoulders to her waist, groping for her hips. He decided she was pretty enough, not that it mattered. He knew that even if he loved Isabelle, it wouldn't fill the darkness eating away at him. He didn't even feel much excitement in the kiss. All he enjoyed was the terror radiating off her, the helplessness she was expelling.

When Jonathan broke back, he was flushed with excitement. Isabelle's eyes were wide and she was shaking. It felt like vomit was working its way up her throat. She hated Jonathan, and the thought of spending any time with him, of forcing herself to be that close to him, was disgusting.

"So, how much are you willing to offer to save Jace?" Jonathan sneered, hands still on her hips.

Isabelle closed her eyes to block out the sight of him. All she could remember was Max's face, bright and curious, and then he was gone. Jonathan ripped him away mercilessly, with a smile. Max was gone, though, and she couldn't do anything to help him now. But Jace, he was still alive, and he needed help. He needed it as much as Max had. She couldn't fail again.

Her dark eyes popped open and Isabelle gazed up straight and stiff. "Name it, and it's yours."

* * *

When Clary's eyes sprung open to the bright light she flinched at the sight of a shadow. She cringed against Jace, waiting for the blow that Jonathan was soon to deliver. What did she and Jace do now? Feeling her tension, Jace woke and pressed her against him.

"Jonathan," Jace sighed, "what do you want now? What did we do?"

"Jace!"

Snapping to attention, Jace and Clary almost fell into Alec, who was at the end of their mattress and Isabelle, who was at the side. The sight of them almost brought tears to Clary's eyes. She clung to Jace still, but wasn't afraid to raise her eyes and risk a glimpse. They both looked down on her like angels.

"You're alive!" Isabelle cried and flung her arms about Jace then Clary. "By the Angel, we thought Jonathan had killed you, or, or done something worse." She had bright tears in her dark eyes, and her lips trembles weakly.

"What are you doing in the attic?" Alec asked softly, and he settled himself on the edge of the mattress. "Why did Jonathan put you here?"

Jace seemed to come out of a sudden trance, his tawny eyes closing slowly and opening again. He didn't understand what they were asking. Crawling forward carefully, Clary raised her big green eyes to meet Alec's.

"We didn't…" Clary thought on her words. "We behaved badly."

Jarred to life by Clary's weak voice, Jace said, "He sent us up here after we were whipped."

Isabelle snatched Jace up and made him spin around. She saw his raw back and gasped, and then delicately trailed her fingers along the tears. It looked like someone had sliced him open hundreds of times. Jace curved his spine and tensed as Isabelle explored his mutilated back.

"How long have you been here?" Isabelle's mere breath stirred a painful response in Jace's back.

"Almost a week, I think," Clary murmured. She saw the thick skirt she wore and the warm clingy shirt and self-consciously rubbed her own shirt, stiff with dirt. "He'll keep us here until Val-my father comes."

"That could be a whole week," Alec warned. "Is there no way to convince him to let you down?"

Jace laughed at that. "Even if I begged on my hands and knees he wouldn't let us go. Jonathan hates me."

Isabelle stroked Jace's cheek tenderly, like she would have Max's. His cheeks were sharply defined, his eyes sunken. She could only guess that something else had put those lines there; even a week in the attic wouldn't make him look so drawn. It looked like if she slapped Jace across the face he'd shatter into a million little pieces. Somehow, someone had made him fragile, and, Isabelle vowed, they were going to pay.

"There's got to be something we can do then," she said softly. "We'll bring supplies to last you." She glanced at her brother sharply. "We know how to steal from the kitchen now. It won't be hard."

"If you get caught-" Clary croaked, but Alec cut her off.

"We won't be. And what's the worst that will happen if we do?" He gazed around the attic. "Does Jonathan come up here?"

"Never," Jace answered. "Well, not yet. He leaves our meals on the steps. I think he wanted to isolate us."

"And he did it pretty good," Clary muttered.

"Don't worry," Isabelle said firmly, standing and smiling down on them. "We'll take care of you."


	8. While Father Was Away

Chapter Eight: While Father Was Away

Isabelle was good to her word. She and Alec promised to return and left the attic. Clary, a child starved of love, trailed them all the way to the stairs and watched them go. She trembled like a fall leaf and choked back tears. After a minute of staring at the locked door, Jace joined her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"They'll be back soon," he said, and gently pulled her to the mattress. Falling into their daily ritual, Jace had Clary sit before him so he could wash out the wounds on her back. They switched roles and Clary wiped his back as softly as he could, but when she pressed too hard and Jace gasped, Clary sprung back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmured against his ear, and Jace relaxed a little. Suddenly, stunned by her own boldness, Clary reached out and kissed Jace's neck as in apology. "I'm sorry."

A low growl rumbled through Jace and Clary was reminded strongly of a lion. He turned around slowly and caught her up in his arms. It was strange, they both thought, to be in such a terrible place, and be having such a wonderful time. And that made Clary think of her father's promise. Of letting them live together one day, of getting married, of having children. It made her wonder.

"Jace," she said against his lips, and he hummed to let her know he was listening. Of course, it was hard with Jace tracing lines of fire down her neck with his lips. "Do you remember what my father said about us?"

He paused in his kissing. "Before or after he lit me on fire?."

"Jace!" Clary squeezed his wrists. "I do, often, actually," she said and pulled back to meet his eyes. "He said he'd let us live together, do you remember? Do you think we'll ever really get to escape him? I mean, will he always be there?"

As if in pain, Jace rested his head on Clary's shoulder and sighed. "It's going to sound terrible, but, yes, I think he will."

"So, does that mean he'll have control of us? Like-" she paused, working up her nerve "-like if we ever have kids, will he have control of them? Will we have kids?"

For the first time, Jace look stunned by Clary. His smile was heartbreaking when he chuckled under his breath and cupped her face in his hands. "Are you making a proposition?" Clary stuttered out a no, but Jace just held up a hand. "Good, because I was going to say, on an old mattress? I thought you had more class."

"Jace, I'm being serious," Clary said through her blush.

He considered the question and rubbed his hands. "If we ever have children, I'm afraid Valentine will always have a hold over them. They'll never be safe. Consequently, neither will we."

Clary shuddered just a little when she thought of her and Jace always being under Valentine's sway. "What was it like?"

"What?" Jace's eyes got a little wider and he played with her fingers.

"That month you spent…well, wherever you were. What did Valentine do to you? You don't talk about it."

"Oh, you know, I hung out in the game room beneath the hall and played on an X-Box." He screwed up his face. "It is an X-Box, right?"

"Jace," Clary said firmly.

"Why do you need to know?" Jace snapped back, and Clary felt that tension all over again.

"Please, Jace," Clary said quietly, and she knew he'd speak.

"After I wok up on that horse, well, I was sorta out of it. I couldn't really think straight. I remember seeing Jonathan next to me, and when I tried to move he hit me, and laughed, and told me to behave.

"I slipped in and out of consciousness, and when I came fully to, I was in a cell with my left hand cuffed to a railing. It was so dark, I couldn't see a foot in front of me, but I could hear. Outside the door, there was a lot of rattling and shouting, and I think there were other prisoners.

"But after a while, Valentine showed up." Jace closed his eyes and pressed his lips for a minute. "He had a witchlight, and I was blinded at first. I heard him say my name, and then he had his hands around me. I tried to fight back, but I was so weak. He pinned me down and forced me to look into his eyes and listen to him. He wanted me to _understand_ him. He was trying to _reach _me." Jace's lip curled in disgust.

"He just kept telling me that I had to listen. That he was right. I'd tell him no, I didn't believe him. I didn't want to hear; there was nothing he could say that would change my mind. To Valentine's credit, he never used more than necessary force. He didn't hit me. Just made me listen."

"But why?"

Jace's eyes jumped to her face. "I think a part of him wanted me to join him. I think he would have been happy if I'd said I agreed with him." Jace shrugged. "Maybe he would have welcomed me back as a son, I don't know. But it got monotonous and I just kinda gave up fighting. Valentine had me sit on the floor and he'd be on the bench, and he'd paint pictures in the air about his utopian vision."

Clary could see it, too. Her father trying to brainwash Jace into some sick delusion. A part of her mind wondered what would have become of her if Jace had listened to her father. She shivered.

"But it wasn't just Valentine who came. Your mother and Jonathan, too.

"Jocelyn was a pleasant relief from the other two. She'd come and sit with me sometimes, hold my hand. I'd ask her about you, but she wouldn't budge. She preferred to ask me how I was. I think a part of her wanted a son who she could love. One time I told her I wasn't her son, and she just shrugged and said her husband had raised me, so in some way, I was.

"I can understand why you loved her so much. She was just like Valentine, though; all she'd ever tell me was how much Valentine cared for me. How he wanted me back, how she would have loved me as another son. I almost believed her." He shuddered. "I kinda wish she really loved me.

"There were sometimes when I didn't mind her around me. Once, I don't know…about two weeks in, I passed out while Jonathan was-was spending some time with me. When I woke up, Jocelyn had my head on her lap and she was petting my hair, singing. I thought that I was back in New York years ago when I caught the flu and Maryse was caring for me. Right then, I think I would have believed anything Valentine said if I could just have Jocelyn around."

"My mom, she's not a bad person. She's just in love with one," Clary murmured.

"Yeah, I noticed. I think Valentine might be slipping her a potion or something. Something to make her love him. But, even Jocelyn couldn't save me from Jonathan." Now Jace turned away. "He's spent his whole life listening to how much Valentine loved me. He's always had to live in my shadow. And because of that, he hates me.

"At first, he'd just hit me around, but then he got mad when I wouldn't break. He wanted to demean me, make me a shadow of what I was. He'd prove to his father who was the better son. He started bringing tools with him: brands and whips, and knives, and whatever he thought might cause me pain. Sometimes, he'd talk about you while he was there, to add insult to injury, you could say. He'd tell me about what was happening to you, how Valentine was treating you, the last time he'd hit you. I hated listening to that the most.

"There were time when I thought he was gonna kill me. He'd lose it completely, all he wanted was for me to scream and beg, and I couldn't, so he'd keep pushing and pushing. Then, he'd think he'd gone too far and back off, and he'd clean the wounds and let me sleep. Maybe a day of reprieve and then he'd be back.

"And in the end, well, they abandoned me. Valentine told me that if I wouldn't listen he wouldn't try. Jocelyn begged me to come to my senses, but I wouldn't, so she said her goodbyes and left me. Jonathan beat me until he broke my arm, fractured a few of my ribs, and made it impossible to move so that I could die alone in the dark. It was going on two days when Valentine had a change of heart and had me pulled out of there. And I suppose, I have you to thank for that."

When Jace finished Clary swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut so the tears could fall freely. Somehow, she found a way to get her arms around Jace and hold him. He was shaking, but just from the cold wind that shook the attic. Summer was at its end.

"How did you put up with it for so long?" Clary asked against his chest.

"Well, how did you put up with it? The month you spent there, I mean."

"I had to keep going," Clary said softly.

"And so did I," answered Jace. "I knew in the end I'd either die, or be moved into the light. I'd just have to stick it out."

Before she could answer, the door beneath them creaked loudly. Clary and Jace clenched together, waiting to see who'd be coming up. A familiar dark head appeared over the railing by the stairs and Isabelle marched in followed closely by Alec. They were both laden with what looked like piles of fabric.

"Okay, you two, we've brought what we could snatch," she said and heaved the stuff to the ground. "This should last you two for a week."

"Izzy…You're and angel!" Clary cried and sprung up to sift through the pile.

Two thick blankets were folded over a few times, and pillow was tucked in them. Under the blankets were clothing. Three loose shits that buttoned up the front along with two pairs of pants. The material was soft and worn, it would be comfortable to sleep in. There were more shirts and pants, but those fit more for a man, obviously for Jace.

Alec joined them and placed another pillow down, but it rattled with something inside the case. Clary reached in and removed bandages and an anti-bacterial cream. Her back, stinging for last week, relaxed for the first time.

"How did you get these-"

"It takes some skill," Alec admitted, and helped pull Jace to his feet. "Think this will last?"

"You're amazing," breathed Jace. He reached into the pillowcase as far as his arms would allow and pulled out- "Food!"

"We grabbed some stuff from the kitchen," shrugged Alec. "But just what wouldn't be missed. Apples and oranges and pears. I think a little bit of bread."

Clary's stomach grumbled loudly and begged for a bite of apple. She fell on the food in a ravenous hunger and dug her teeth into the red flesh. Sweet juices swelled around her mouth and dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away and then licked her fingers. Jace joined her with an eye on a pear.

"I haven't eaten anything this good for days," breathed Clary desperately. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Don't even ask you two," laughed Isabelle. She helped Jace and Clary back onto the bed and pet back their hair. "Just eat and relax, and find a way to heal those wounds."

"We have a week to do that," asserted Jace, and took another huge bite out of his pear. "Any more word of Valentine?"

"Nothing," said Alec, who fell onto the bed by Jace. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but a part of his mind warned him against it. Jace didn't feel for him that way, and lingering on the idea only made Alec hurt.

"He'll be here soon," Clary said, sounding more like she was trying to reassure herself. "Until then, we'll keep on keeping on."

"There's the spirit," encouraged Isabelle, but her face fell when she glanced out the window. She was tracing the light of the sun. "Alec, our times almost up."

His light eyes darkened, and then he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't want to leave his little brother alone in an attic, waiting for a man who hated him, to turn up and save him. Jace needed someone to look after him, he'd always needed someone there to stop the world from caving in on him, even if he didn't know it. Of course…so had Max, and Alec had failed there. He _wouldn't _fail here.

"We'll be back soon." He caught Jace's golden eyes. "Keep out of trouble."

"You know, I try but it's not my fault!" Jace crowed, and then nodded. "We'll see you soon."

Alec and Isabelle left as they'd come, leaving Jace and Clary huddled together on the mattress. Jace finished the fruit and found Clary. He managed to wind both his arms around her again and fit her against him.

"Come here, Clary," he murmured. "Let's try to relax. To wait."

He tugged her down next to him and they curled up under the blankets. For the rest of the day, _days_, really, Jace and Clary trudged on. The supplies Alec and Isabelle had gifted came in especially handy as the weather worsened. Summer was floating away. And, of course, they were grateful that Jonathan never bothered to join them in their attic prison. But they were both wearing thin, ready to escape the cold and lonely place, ready to see real light again.


	9. Homecoming

Chapter Nine: Homecoming 

The servant came rushing up the steps, breathless and anxious, eyes popping out of his face. He panted and leaned against the wall, scanning the entrance hall and eyeing the maid who just welcomed him. She was tall and statuesque, her very thick dark hair was spun up in a bun. Her brown gaze considered him coldly.

"I suspect you bring word from-" Here, the maid paused to gather herself. "-His lord, Valentine."

"Yes, miss," he said, and decided she was very pretty. "I was sent ahead to inform his son. Could you fetch him?" He didn't really want the maid to go, he would have liked to keep his eyes on her shapely form.

"I'm not a page," she said tartly. "But I suppose I could find Jonathan if it's _so_ important." She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, and the servant righted himself.

"If you'd be so good as to find him…?" he raised his eyebrows.

"What?" she snapped back, eyes glinting.

"Your name, miss?" he said. "What's your name?"

She considered him awhile, pursing her lips. "It's-"

"Isabelle!" snarled a low, cold voice. "What did I tell you about slacking off in your duties…?" Jonathan's eyes traveled to the soldier waiting at the side. "What do you want?" he snapped.

"My lord," he began, stuttering to find the right words. "Your father, Lord Valentine, has sent me ahead to inform you he's coming."

Isabelle blinked a few times to process the information. Jonathan, though, was on top of things. "Excellent. How long before he arrives?"

"Three hours, my lord."

Jonathan clapped his hands abruptly. "Isabelle, see to this man's needs, whatever they may be," he added darkly, enjoying the play of outrage on her face. "I have work to do."

Isabelle shot Jonathan such a withering look that he had to hide his smile, and then the two drifted off, the servant pestering Isabelle with questions. For a moment, he thought about reversing the roles, and following Isabelle. Asking for favors, but then, he could always just demand them.

Instead, Jonathan stalked up the steps and found the small doorway to the attic. He smirked and then banged the door open so loud he heard the pattering footsteps above as his sister and his hated step-brother scrambled around. He laughed to himself and stomped up the stairs.

The attic, cold and desolate, was the perfect place, Jonathan thought. The perfect place to lock up that insolent, hideous, little angel child. In the dark and frigid places of the world. He'd break that boy yet.

There they were, Jace and Clary, sitting in the attic window, soaking up as much sun they could. The sun played off their faces, bringing light into their lank hair. One gold one flaming red, both pale and fragile. Perhaps they'd learned a lesson.

"Get over here!" he ordered sharply.

As he expected, Jace tried to push Clary back to protect her, but Clary forced herself forward and straightened up. So his sister was the one who needed to be put in her place. He'd work on that. They both looked ragged and fatigued.

"Father's on way, dear sister, and I won't have you and this dog looking like servants." He surveyed them and Jace flushed at the name. "Downstairs, both of you, and take a bath. I'll have servants bring you clothing." He turned and paused at the stairs. "Not a word to anyone about this."

"Why?" Clary dared.

Jonathan smiled horribly. "One breath of this to even a slave, and I'll carve Jace's face into a permanent grin. And I'll make sure Father thinks I had to do it." There was no emotion in his voice, just a terrible coldness that made Clary take a step back.

"Okay," she murmured, and bowed her head, clutching Jace's hand until it turned white.

They both waited until Jonathan was long gone before they risked coming to the stairs. Jace pressed Clary against him and kissed her hair. She was shivering, thinking of Jonathan cutting up Jace's face…

"I want a warm bath," she whispered, and then pulled him down the steps.

Three hours was just barely enough time. Jace and Clary both got hot baths. Servants pulled combs through their wet hair and threw soapy sponges that them. Both Clary and Jace, though, were stiff and underfed, and the servants had heard the rumors of their whipping. It made them wonder what had happened to the children since.

No one spoke to them, though, and it was a lonely three hours apart. They were both so used to each other company that suddenly missing it hurt. Eventually they were pulled out of their baths and dressed, their hair dried and put in order.

When Jonathan called them to the entrance hall, Jace and Clary were more than a little ruffled. He walked before them, glancing once and while to the door where his father would soon enter.

"Clary," he ordered, pointing before him. "Come."

"She's not a dog," growled Jace under his breath, but Clary just brushed his arm and strode to her brother.

"Stand straight, shoulders back, head bowed," he snapped. Clary shuffled around, wishing she could be back in her bath. Jonathan proceeded to prowl around her, scanning her body for flaws. His gaze landed on her green dress that was cut low to reveal the top of her chest and then fitted through her hips; it reminded her of the Victorian age. Her hair was spun up in a bun and pinned furiously, her mouth curved in a frown. "When you address Valentine, you will call him master or father, nothing else. You will not speak unless spoken to." Jonathan lifted his eyes and saw Jace staring at him. With a smirk, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Clary's ear. "You're presentable, little sister."

Clary fell back without a word and scratched her arms. Jonathan then turned his black eyes on Jace, who met his gaze with golden defiance. "Come, boy."

Jace raised his eyebrows. "I'm 'boy' now?" He strolled up, a slow grin on his face.

Jonathan cracked his knuckles and snatched a hank of Jace's hair. "You're not to speak at all, unless Valentine asks you something. And when you answer, you call him master. Keep your eyes down at _all _times." Jonathan skimmed Jace over. He didn't like the idea that this brat, this worthless servant, could look better than him in a white shirt and black pants. He glowered. "Anything else and I'll personally see to your punishment."

"Isn't that how it always is?" he asked, and then the doors opened and he shoved Jace backward.

For the past month, Clary had been dreading and praying for the day when her father would come back. She gazed up at her father, taking in his cold eyes, his grim smile, handsome face. There was a strained joy on his face, like he was struggling to maintain a happy perspective. His eyes landed on the three children before him and the smile wavered just a little.

"Jonathan, my boy," he boomed, and the servants who had been buzzing around froze and watched. Valentine lurched forward and caught him up in an embrace. "How has the manor been running?"

"Excellent, Father," Jonathan said at once and then turned to his mother, who was floating up to him.

"Clarissa," he breathed, towering over her.

"Yes, Father," she said, and lifted her face to his, eyes open wide. "Hello."

"And do you like the country?"

"Very much, Father," Clary ground out, and then dipped her head. His eyes were merciless and dark, he didn't care how she liked it.

"Excellent, ah, and here's Jace," he said and turned to Jace, who nodded and played with his hands. "And you've enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes," he said shortly and pressed against Clary.

Valentine nodded at the sight of his daughter and his step-son together. For him, it was an ideal solution to a rebellious daughter and a reckless soldier. They'd make excellent servants. Slowly, he turned to his wife and son, and beckoned them over.

"Come, let's retire to the study while the servants take out things. Jocelyn, would you like to sit?" He held out his hand to her, and Clary watched her mother ignore her and slide into a warm embrace with her hated father.

"Absolutely, my feet are so sore," she sighed and followed Valentine.

Jonathan pushed past Jace and Clary, and the two trailed into the study. Valentine seated Jocelyn in a cushioned chair, then poured her a drink. He then took the seat next to her and gestured for Jonathan to take the only other empty seat nearby. Clary licked her lips and glanced at Jace's worried face.

Valentine smiled at Jonathan and then seemed to suddenly notice Clary and Jace. "Clary, my dear," he said smoothly, waving her over, "come sit here, at my feet, like a good daughter." Clary blanched and her mother smiled warmly at her. "Clary, come."

Clary was about to say never, but Jace nudged her in the back and she went forward, dragging her feet. The eyes of the servants were turned on her, so it made sense for her father to be so kind. He was playing up the lie expertly.

Uncomfortably, Clary settled at his feet and leaned as far forward as she could. Jace stood alone, staring after the man he'd called father. Valentine patted Clary's elegant hair and smiled at Jocelyn before he noticed Jace. When he saw him Valentine blinked and smirked, and checked with Jonathan before he spoke to Jace.

"You may stand there, by the fire," he allowed and Jonathan snickered.

Until the servants left twenty minutes later, Valentine kept up a pleasant conversation. He was openly charming, with a winning sort of humor. Jocelyn adored him, laughing and smiling, and toying with him. Jonathan asked all sorts of simple questions, how things were fairing in town. Nothing unpleasant was discussed. Clary was forced to remain at her father's feet, and she felt like an obedient dog, resting at her master's shoes. She grimaced. Jace wasn't spoken to at all.

Finally, Jocelyn recognized her daughter. "So, Clary, how have you enjoyed the country?"

Mind jogged by the question, Clary spilled out and most bland answer she could. "It's lovely, so peaceful and quiet."

"Excellent." She eyed her daughter thoughtfully. "We'll have to call for seamstress; those clothes are a little worn." Her great green eyes turned on Valentine in childish pleading. "We have enough to spare for that, don't we?"

Clary knew if he could, Valentine would keep her in rags until she was forced to come to him herself. But, he had to keep Jocelyn happy. "Yes, my dear. I won't have my daughter running about in old clothes."

"Thank-you," Clary said to no one in particular.

"Yes, yes, yes," Jocelyn said, uncaring. "Tomorrow, perhaps, we can ever begin your household training." Her eyes widened at the thought. "It will be so much fun, Clary."

"Of course it will," Clary murmured and felt her father's leg against her back.

Another hour passed, minutes ticked by with her father's voice booming around her, and Clary concentrated on Jace. He looked so strong, standing before the roaring flames of the fire. She wondered how he managed to stay up straight through it all, after weeks in the attic. Toward the end, Clary thought she might have seen Jace begin to shift his weight back and forth, his eyelids droop, his hands shake. But the years of training paid off and he didn't ask to sit or move.

"Well, I'm for bed," Jocelyn announced. "Care to join me?" Her voice rippled seductively at Valentine.

"Soon, my dear, soon." He grinned at Jace, whose eyes widened. "I'll stay up a little longer and reacquaint with the children." When her eyes lidded a little, he smiled openly. "Don't fret, Jocelyn, I'll be there soon enough."

She kissed his head and then his lips, and Valentine brushed her cheeks. As motherly as ever, Jocelyn bent and kissed Clary's cheek, and Clary stiffened. Jocelyn crossed to Jonathan and kissed his cheek, and then paused and gave Jace a hard look. He raised his eyebrows, unsure of what she'd do, then jumped a little when she placed a kiss on his cheek. And then in a flurry of skirts and laughs, she was out the door and gone.

"How endearing," Valentine commented, eyeing Jace. "Do you enjoy having a mother?"

His face paled a little. "I'm unaccustomed to it."

"And I trust you don't want to lose this mother?" he asked, hammering the point.

Jace measured his face and shrugged. "I lived a childhood without one, I could survive again, but-" and here, Jace lowered his eyes in a show of submission. "-I like having one."

"Good," Valentine said, nodding, and his eyes glowed with malice. "So, Jonathan, how have these two behaved?"

Clary couldn't stop herself from glancing at him. "We should have moved them out here weeks ago. I think they're beginning to understand."

"Understand what?" Clary demanded and jumped to her feet, unable to sit anymore. "What are you two talking about? You have another disgusting joke?"

"Well," Jonathan said, eyeing Clary sadly. "Well, beginning to understand."

"Understand what?" Jace said as well, coming away from the fire.

Valentine rose and pointed them to the couch, both resigned, they fell onto it. "I want you to understand your place. Out here, away from crowds and onlookers, I plan to put you there. And you will remain out here until I think I can trust you."

"So that's what we're doing," breathed Jace. "You could have said as much."

"Did I say you could speak?" snarled Valentine. Clary pulled Jace closer to her. "It's how your life is going to be from now on. The sooner you accept it the better."

"We understand, father," Clary ground out, feeling Jace's pulse jump.

"I hope so," he murmured, moving closer and closer to them. "I will have a family above reproach. My daughter will be the perfect example of a young woman. Loyal, obedient, beautiful, and charming. My son, the most excellent young man. And you, Jace, will be a grateful son-in-law."

"When we are all that you want us to be," Clary risked, "will you let us go? Will you left Jace and I leave?"

"You're never leaving," he said. "Not really. Even when you leave this place, I'll never let you leave. When you two fall in love, I'll be there; when you get married, I'll be there; when you move into your own house, I'll be there; and when you have children of your own; _I'll be there_." He took them by their shoulders. "You belong to me."

Clary was shaking in terror, and Jace, he was clamping his hands into fists. Unable to contain it, Clary broke away. "Leave me _alone_! Why do you have to do this? Why can't you just let your daughter go?"

"I won't lose you!" he snarled, and then shock flitted across his face at what he'd said only to be consumed by anger. "Get out of my sight. Go, both of you; I'll deal with you later."

Jace felt Clary's cold fingers lying numb in his palm. He squeezed and pulled her up onto her feet. Under Valentine's dark gaze, Jace tugged Clary away and into the open hall. On the staircase, a young maid froze at the sight. Jace enveloped Clary in his arms and kissed her passionately, trying to force the terror out of her. She melted into his arms and cried openly.

Tessa, rooted to the spot, narrowed her eyes. She saw the way Jace held Clary, the way he caressed her and kissed her. Her deep hatred simmered as she watched. That was _her_ Jace, not that little brat's. He should have been kissing her. Holding her. She licked her lips and rushed up the stairs, heat rising. She'd make Clary regret it.

"We can't do it, Jace. He'll kill us, you know he will," Clary whispered. She was fingering the strings on his shirt. "You heard him: we belong to him."

"Oh, I heard him…" Jace agreed, thinking about Valentine's last snarling words. _I won't lose you_. What did that mean?

"I wish we were still in the attic. I wish he had locked us up there forever. At least then, Valentine would never find us." She glanced around and saw the stairs leading up to her room. A room with a lock. "Let's go, before he comes back," she murmured, and pulled Jace with her.

At her door, she paused, wondering what to do. She couldn't leave Jace alone, not if she wanted to see him unharmed in the morning. Her eyes found Jace's and he shrugged as if he didn't care that he might be hurt.

"Go on, you'll be safe there."

"Do you have a lock on your door?"

Jace sighed unhelpfully. "Jonathan broke it off."

Thoughts rushed through Clary's head. She couldn't leave Jace out here. Her eyes raced back and forth between the door and Jace, and she finally took his hands in hers and tugged.

"You can't go back to your room tonight, now with Valentine home." She opened her door and gestured in. "I want you to sleep in here tonight."

Jace balked at the sight, and shook his head slowly. "Your father would kill me, Clary."

"Go get your bed clothes and come back here. I don't wanna sleep alone tonight. It just won't be right. Anyway," Clary chuckled darkly, "you heard my father, he said we could get married. Why not sleep in the same bed?"

"Clary, I don't want to give your father a reason to hurt me," Jace said simply.

"I'll take all the blame, I just, I just don't want to be alone tonight. Please, just stay with me."

Maybe it was that Jace didn't want to be alone either, or that look so clear in Clary's eyes, but he decided he'd stay with her. Jace kissed Clary lightly on cheek and then returned to his room to change into pajamas. When he padded down the hall and into Clary's room, she was curled up under the covers and staring at the door wide-eyed. Jace closed the door and locked it firmly, and then softly joined Clary.

"I'm here," he said and cautiously sat on the edge of the bed. Clary reached out and pulled his arm. "Yes, we'll sleep her if you want."

"I want it," she said seriously, and Jace slid under the covers to join her.

The moonlight fell on the two of them, snuggled against each other. Jace had his arms about Clary's waist and his face nestled in her hair. Clary just wanted peace, and, for once, she got it. In Jace's grasp Clary could just close her eyes and feel safe, even when she was surrounded by violence and repression.


	10. Mother's Day

Chapter Ten: Mother's Day

"Even strokes, Clary, even strokes," trilled Marisa as she and Clary stood in the drawing room overlooking the gardens. "I will not have your parents think you a slacker when it comes to your artwork."

Glowering in the direction of the art instructor, Clary sighed and dabbed her paintbrush into the red and yellow. The tree line in the distance, beyond the garden, looked welcoming-to Clary at least. She would have welcomed any escape from the manor and Marisa, and the woods were lovely. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and she bit it in concentration as her deft hands dabbed in the color of the changing leaves.

"That's…_better_," Marisa allowed. "Add shadow to piece, and do try to hurry. I've no doubt that your father expects perfection."

By this point Clary was really considering throwing open the window and vaulting into the flowers. Marisa was like a mocking jay, really, she just wouldn't shut up. From the corner of her eyes, Clary considered the woman. She was tall and curvy, wore her curling hair in a messy bun, and had eyes like a hawk. If her only her voice wasn't so incessant and annoying, Clary would have welcomed her lessons.

Valentine had decided the day after his arrival that Clary needed some form of creative expression. Since she could draw, and he approved of the talent, he hired a private tutor to come and coach her. Two hours were suddenly filled everyday with paint and pencils and empty canvas.

"Now, make the flowers bend, flow, turn gently in the wind like a dance. You need to envision these things, make them breathe, give them life!" she cried and clapped Clary on the back. "Go, go, go!"

_I know how to draw_, Clary thought tartly. "Alright."

For five more minutes Clary labored over her art, admiring her depiction of the garden and the trees. It was her private garden, the place she and Jace shared. As she added a golden streak to the flowers she thought of Jace. She'd give it to him when it was all done.

"That's a rather lovely depiction of the garden walk-"

"Clary!"

Marisa and Clary spun about to the doors, both thrown open. Clary's hand clenched down on the paintbrush as Marisa sprang into action. "Ah, Jocelyn, have you come to view your daughter's work? I must say, she's progressing excellently. You talent passed down, most likely."

Jocelyn surveyed her daughter's drawing and nodded. "It's lovely, but I'm afraid it will have to wait." She turned on Marisa and smiled sadly. "I'm going to have to steal Clary away from you a little early today."

Marisa pressed her lips, but she'd never say no to Jocelyn, not Valentine's wife. "If you must. I know the lessons you work on are essential to her life skills."

Jocelyn's smile was heartbreaking. "Nothing could be more important. Clary, my dear, come."

Clary laid her brush on the sill of easel and tipped her head to Marisa. Her tutor clicked her tongue and nodded to her mother. Following her swishing skirts, Clary was led by Jocelyn up a level of stairs and into her own room. It was buzzing like a hive.

"Those seamstresses we called finished your new clothes. You have to try them on for a final fit."

Clary inched into her own room and surveyed the boxes piled on her bed. In the corner by the window, the seamstress eyed her nervously, and by a dressing screen propped up, Isabelle waited patiently. By common assent of the servants, Isabelle was named Clary's personal maid.

Clary stared so long at the boxes that Isabelle came forward and opened one and drew out the clothes. She shook out a lovely dress and gestured Clary behind the changing screen.

"You're lucky to get new clothes," Isabelle murmured.

"Lucky my mother could get Valentine to do anything, you mean," Clary sniffed. "And anyway, look at the clothes. Valentine is trying to keep me in the Victorian age."

It was true. It seemed like the fashion in Idris was a few hundred years old. Most of Clary's clothes were new dresses, fitted perfectly. They all had low necklines and flowing skirts. In her mother's opinion, it made her look more mature, to Clary, it made her think of Halloween. There were a few exceptions, pants and shirts for sparring and horseback riding. Boots and gloves, too, but mostly, elegant woman things.

"Oh, that's lovely!" Jocelyn proclaimed as Clary emerged from the screen. "That red does wonders for your hair. Ah, and here's the ribbon. I think you should wear this for dinner tonight, you know, to show your father how grateful you are."

"Would he care much?" sighed Clary.

"Oh and look at this!" cried Jocelyn, ignoring her dour remark. "Grey and blue. I just love the embroidery on the bodice…"

With a snap of her fingers, Jocelyn sent Isabelle and Clary behind the screen to change. The red dress was set aside with a length of ribbon, and she was shunted into dress after dress. Isabelle watched emotionlessly as Clary tired on her new clothes, and Jocelyn oohed and aahed her way through it. The whole process took almost three hours.

"These are all perfect," Jocelyn said to the seamstress. "Your work is amazing. Perhaps, we could call on you again for a ball gown or two?"

The seamstress nodded fervently. "It'd be an honor. I just found this exquisite blue silk…"

Jocelyn and the seamstress tapered off in conversation and Clary turned to survey herself in the mirror. She was in a simple dress, very light green with dark green designs tailored into the skirt and sleeve cuffs. Clary twisted a piece of stray hair behind her ear and pursed her lips into a frown. Her reflection frowned back and then sidestepped as Isabelle joined her.

"You really do look nice," she whispered and then glanced at her own rags. "Though, I suppose telling Valentine you're grateful will be painful. The price you have to pay, I suppose."

Clary could see her father now, smirking as he watched her prance about in a dress. Of course, it wasn't _her_ dress, not by a long shot. She'd have to pay for it in years of training and service to Valentine. He'd make her work for anything she had, be it clothes, books, or food.

"Isabelle," Clary whispered weakly. She wanted to tell someone so badly, she needed to say it, let it out. The secret was eating away at her insides, haunting her nightmares. "I don't want to see my father."

Would she understand it? Clary wondered. Did Isabelle see that she was begging for help? Wasn't it obvious that Valentine was just as cruel as Jonathan?

"Just stare him down and tell him what you need to," she said back, and Clary's heart sank at her thoughtlessness.

"He'll never let me go, Izzy, everything I have, everything I am, it's what he gave me." Clary bowed her head submissively.

"You have Jace," she said, clutching at shreds of hope.

"So does Valentine; he keeps Jace at his side, his personal servant. Jace isn't even allowed to see me unless he asks Valentine!" Clary ached at the idea of Jace. "I only see him at dinner and at night."

Isabelle reached out and touched Clary's hand in the warmest gesture she could, but Jocelyn turned about then and smiled on her daughter. "Look at you, Clary!" she proclaimed and came over, pushing Isabelle into the shadows. "You're absolutely stunning."

"She's gorgeous," cooed the seamstress, admiring her own work.

Jocelyn looked to the seamstress and nodded her head in dismissal. "You're work is much appreciated, thank you." They waited until the old woman left before Jocelyn returned to her daughter. "Clary, we have a little while before dinner, would you care to walk with me in the garden? I wish to speak with you." Her eyes landed on Isabelle. "Alone."

Clary knew she didn't have a choice in the matter. "That would be fine."

In slow procession Clary followed her mother out the door and through the house. A few of the servants smiled at them and said hello, but Jocelyn didn't really notice them, she floated by with a wave and forced Clary onward. Clary considered her mother's punishing pace and wondered what she had on her mind.

The garden was beginning to fade, Clary decided, very much like her hope of ever escaping Valentine. Most the flowers had shed their petals and were dropping under their own weight. The soil was dry and littered with brown leaves, and when a cold crisp wind blew, it scattered the dead petals onto the walk. Jocelyn led Clary to the private courtyard she wanted to share only with Jace, and gestured for her to sit on a small bench.

"Do you like having your father back?" she began evenly, and toyed with a fly-away hair.

Clary slumped her shoulders and nodded. "I do like it when you're around."

"I'm glad to hear that, Clary," her mother said after releasing her pent up breath. "I'd always felt like I'd done you wrong by not having a father in your childhood…for a while, I hoped that Lucian might fill that place but-" Jocelyn shook her head frivolously. Luke was nothing now to her. "-now you have your _real_ father and things are as they should be. I worried when you first met him you wouldn't care for him, and I was right, wasn't I?"

Clary fingered her arms where her father would slice her open if she didn't obey him. "Yes, mother, I wasn't fond of him."

"But _now_," pressed her mother, "you do?"

An urge to blurt out the truth overcame Clary, but she saw the pleading in her mother's eyes and knew she couldn't rip that dream to shreds. "But now he is far more endearing to me. This house is even nicer when he's around." And that part was true; with Valentine around, Jonathan was hardly ever there to hurt her.

Jocelyn nodded her head carelessly; she seemed to be working up to something. "So, you _do _like having a family?"

"Mom," Clary said finally, looking her up and down. "Mom, what are you getting at? What's all this about?"

In a sudden flurry of action, Jocelyn stood and paced back and forth frantically. Her hands fluttered about her and then came to rest, first on her hips, then her elbows, and finally, on her belly. She bit her lip and eyed Clary to the side. "I have a surprise for you, Clary. And before I told you I wanted to make sure you'd like it."

A surprise? A surprise she'd like? Clary wondered what her mother could give her that she could possibly like. The best words that could come out of Jocelyn's mouth were that she was leaving Valentine and taking Clary and Jace away with her. But Clary doubted that. Perhaps Jocelyn had convinced Valentine to let her and Jace leave, as long as they swore on the angel to never return. Or maybe, Jonathan was being sent away because Jocelyn discovered what he'd done to her and Jace while she'd been with Valentine. All these possibilities, all these hopes, so Clary shifted forward in her seat to listen.

"What is it?"

With an excited sigh, Jocelyn fell onto the bench and clapped her hands together. "Oh, Clary, you're going to be a big sister. I'm pregnant!"

A buzzing was filling Clary's ears. Her nails dug into her palms. Teeth sank into her lips. This wasn't happening. Not this. Anything but this. Her mother was lying. Telling a joke. It just couldn't be. The world was beginning to spin all around Clary, a wicked carnival ride, spinning and spinning faster and faster.

"…another little baby. Just think of it, Clary. There'll be me, your father, your brother, you, and an adorable little baby. The sweetest thing in the whole world. You'll be an excellent sister, I can just tell. I'll show you how to care for a baby, so one day, when you're older, you'll know what to do…"

Oh, yes. Clary could see it now. She'd have another sibling to look after. That's what Valentine would make of her. She'd be the new baby's personal maid, the one to care for it, play with it, feed it. She'd never be a shadowhunter, she'd be a nursemaid. That's what Valentine would make of her.

"Does-does father know?" Clary rasped. Her arms were shaking horribly by now.

"Hm?" Jocelyn paused in her praise and excitement to give her daughter a hard look. "Well, of course he knows. Your father is so excited, too. He said it's about time there was another child around here. He was the one who suggested I tell you, after all."

And the world cracked right there for Clary. She wasn't going to sit by with a placid smile on her face, waiting for her usurper to arrive. She wouldn't let another child enter this world only to be used and abused by a man with no heart. Fragments of her world fell around her and Clary, shaking now uncontrollably, stood to face her mother.

"You're crazy," she said in a whisper. "You're crazy and I hate you! I hate what you've become, or what you pretend to be, or what you've returned to; I hate it. You're like some sheltered child, never seeing the world for what it really is, just choosing what you must look at. And you, you stupid careless mother, want me to pander to your little baby?

"I would rather be reduced to a slave than be your baby's nurse. In fact, mother, I hope that baby never sees the light of this world, because God forbid what it'll have to face when it arrives." Jocelyn's face fell into horror at those words. "I will never love that child, never care for it, and I'll never love you either-"

"Clary-"

"You took my love and you smashed it into little pieces the moment you turned your back on me. The moment you went back to Valentine's arms and started blocking out the memories and the nightmares and the ugly truth staring you in the face! You would rather pretend everything's fine than try to protect your own daughter from the man who beats her?"

"No!" Jocelyn denied, shaking her head angrily. "You're wrong, Clary, I love you."

"You don't love me. If you did, you wouldn't be pregnant with Valentine's child, you wouldn't be playing the simpering wife. You'd be trying to help me escape." It felt so good to vent, to just scream and scream and have no one hit you, or tell you to stop. Everything Clary had been feeling since Valentine won, the betrayal, the fear, the pain, it came spilling out like a gushing wound. "But now, now it doesn't matter anymore what I feel, does it?"

"I've always loved you, always cared for you…"

Clary narrowed her eyes at her mother's words. "You have a new baby now, mother. You're probably hoping right now that it's a girl. A little baby girl to replace me in this dysfunctional rag-tag assortment of people you call a family. Yes, that's right, a little red-haired girl to be the perfect daughter you've always wanted. I'll just be that ugly memory, won't I? The daughter you didn't want. Lock me away in a basement or an attic, why don't you? Or better yet, let me be the nurse to my new little sibling. I won't even be your daughter anymore, just that girl who cares for the baby."

"Clary, what you're saying, it hurts me," Jocelyn pleaded with wide pathetic eyes.

"Well, mother," Clary began with a bark of a laugh, "your abandonment hurt me, and you know what they say: actions speak louder than words. If I'm in pain, you don't care, even if you're the reason, you don't care."

"Please, Clary," said Jocelyn, hands outstretched. "Come back to me."

"There's no going back, mother." Clary drew back a few steps. "I just need to know one thing before I go. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

"Anything," breathed Jocelyn.

"Why wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you have to leave me and run off with Valentine to be happy? Wasn't it enough to have a daughter that loved you?"

"I didn't run off," said Jocelyn at once. "I'd never leave you, Clary. I'm here with you now, aren't I?"

"You're here," agreed Clary. "But I don't consider it with me."

With those words, Clary lifted up her skirts and took off. Her shoes sounded loudly as she thumped over the grass of the front lawn and up the steps. She threw open the doors and banged them shut before running up to her room, where she locked the door and collapsed on her bed to cry and cry and cry. To let all the tears out and just wallow in her pain. She didn't know how long she's been on the bed before a floorboard creaked and swish of fabric let her know she had a visitor.

"You sit like that too long and you'll crumple the dress."

Clary lifted her head and sat up straight. By the window, leaning against the sill, was Isabelle, giving her a dark eyed stare. Clary wiped her eyes but it was too late to undo the damage done. She'd been crying for hours probably.

"Izzy," she choked out. "Izzy, my mother just told me…"

"She's pregnant?" guessed Isabelle at once.

Swallowing her surprise, Clary raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

A coy smile and Isabelle joined Clary on the bed and took her hands in hers. "The servants know everything around here. We hear the best gossip and secrets. How'd you take it?"

Clary laughed then. "I exploded at her. You know, the usual teen drama. I told her I hated her. That I hoped the baby was never born. That she didn't love me. All the good stuff."

Isabelle considered Clary's prospects a moment. "Not bad for an amateur. You probably did me proud." She saw tears in Clary eyes and hugged her for a moment. "Now, though, you gotta pull it together."

"What?" gasped Clary, looking down at her rumpled form.

"You heard me," Isabelle said stoutly. "It's time to go into ice princess mode. You need to be the most impeccable daughter in the world. You need to be perfectly above everyone, especially your mother."

"It's a little late for that."

"No it isn't. I'm gonna clean you up and get you out there. You need to show your mother that it's over. It was ugly, but now it's over. You won't even consider her anymore. For you, she's dead."

"A little harsh," admitted Clary.

"Maybe, but it'll make her think twice. Come on, girl, get up."

Isabelle shooed Clary into a very hot bath and had her soak; the heat seemed to wake all her cold muscles and jumpstart her mind. When she got out in a bath towel, her thoughts were alive with revenge. Then, though Clary hated it, Isabelle had her sit before her mirror as she arranged her hair into an elegant bun, and then found the red dress and ribbon. With a pair scissors, Isabella cut the ribbon and wound a piece around Clary's bun. She helped Clary shuffle into the dress and then tied the other piece of red around her neck.

Even though Clary protested, Isabelle applied light make-up. She had to admit, it made her look more mature with her eyes lidded in brown and lined in black with big lashes and berry red lips. Isabelle lifted Clary's chin for her and made her practice a polite though cold smile.

"Dinner's in five minutes. Just go down and be as cold and mature as you can."

Clary tried to stutter out a thanks, but Isabelle shoved her out the locked door and down the steps. The bell that signaled dinner rang as Clary arrived at the doors. She pressed them open and gazed imperiously across the room. Her face, she was sure, was an impassive face that betrayed none of the tension stringing through her body.


	11. Daddy's Girl

Chapter Eleven: Daddy's Girl

The first thing she saw, as always, was Jace. He was sitting on right side of the table, alone, staring across at Jonathan who was considering him with a dark scowl. Jace seemed the same as ever, and that was bad. His hair was gold still, but its curls were a little lank, and it was just a little too long. Jace's skin had long since lost the gold tan, and had adopted a pale pallor, a side effect of the weeks spent in the attic. Clary noted also that Jace's eyes no longer held a golden brilliance, but were dulled by pain and instinctual fear. Lines marked his face, a testament to the long hours he'd spent grimacing in pain, and his shoulders were slumped perpetually. On closer inspection Clary spotted the hidden marks of past punishments, a bruise here, a scar there, burns dotting his skin. Nothing had been easy for Jace; it seemed like his entire like was just one big tragedy, marked here and there buy precious moments happiness.

Jace's eyes found Clary's and she saw them widen a little more. So, maybe the dress did make her look nice. He smiled weakly and forced himself to relax, taking in the sight of the girl he loved. Clary looked perfectly amazing in red, he decided, but her face was stiff and cold, and her eyes were like hard ice. Something had happened, Jace was sure, she reminded him of an animal, furious and ready to spring.

"Clarissa," Valentine said warmly, "you look ravishing tonight. This must be one of the news dresses your mother impressed on me to buy?"

"The very same," Clary answered, and went to take the empty seat next to Jace. He stood and pulled it out for her, aware that Valentine was watching him. "You like it?"

"Beautiful," he said simply.

Jace helped her into her seat and then took his place. "Who are we waiting for?"

"Jocelyn," snapped Valentine, suddenly, giving Jace a furious look. "I won't have you stuffing yourself with food while my wife takes her time. I let you sit here as a generous offer, and if you abuse it, I'll have you eat with the servants in the kitchen."

"It was question," Jace protested, but cut back another word when he saw Valentine glower.

Clary saw her father's eyes go hard as stone. "Father," she said sweetly, "perhaps Mother isn't coming. She was feeling a little ill beforehand."

"Ill?" Valentine raised an eyebrow. "Well, yes, I could imagine…" His voice wavered off, carrying into silence.

"Father?" Jonathan glanced from his father to Clary. "What's wrong with Mother?"

"I wanted her here when I made the announcement, but I might as well let you know, now." He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at Jonathan. "Jocelyn is pregnant."

"Pregnant?" gasped Jonathan, his eyes darkening, but his smile still fixed. "With your child?"

Valentine laughed. "Who else? Yes, it'll be your little brother or sister." He poked at the food on the plate before him and smiled down. "Due in a few months now. I was pleased to hear it."

"Of course, Father," Jonathan said back, and his eyes raced across the table to Jace. He frowned a little, not liking the idea of another child running around under him. Under the table, he clenched his hands into fists; he didn't know how, or why, but the sight of Jace sitting at the table, of his having a place in the family, when he was obviously not a member, infuriated Jonathan. He had a sudden urge to reach out and drag Jace by his hair to the attic and…

An image of Jace curled up at his feet came to mind. Jonathan could almost feel Jace's fine-boned face under his fist when he cracked his hand across it. He could see the blood trickling down his face, mingling with tears as he begged for mercy. Something inside Jonathan longed to hurt Jace, to keep hurting him until everyone saw him for what he was. Everyone treated Jace like he was such a _precious_, _delicate_, _angelic_,_ handsome _little boy. No one seemed to notice how worthless and pathetic he was.

Well, a little brother, a _real_, little brother, would be better than Jace. He could put up with that. Slowly, he switched his gaze to Clary, who was looking absolutely perfect in a red dress. Jonathan's mind drifted to her, stumbling back and shaking her head desperately, telling him no, no, no, don't do it.

_Please, Jonathan, stop, you're hurting me!_ Clary had panted, while Jonathan spun the white-hot blade before her terrified eyes. _You don't have to do this, please, don't do this._

The flaming anger in Jonathan simmered a little when he remembered Clary begging him to stop only two days ago. He'd taught her a lesson, and his father still didn't know. It seemed like making his little sister cry was almost as good a balm for Jonathan as beating Jace. But that hunger was still there, and the dinner they were eating wasn't going to make it go away.

Isabelle was flipping linens in Jonathan's bedroom an hour later wondering how Clary was doing with her parents. She flattened the first blanket out with her palms and breathed out. A painful throbbing in her chest reminded her of her parents, somewhere, locked up while she was here, cleaning rooms.

"I'm sorry," Isabelle whispered to the empty room, closing her eyes to stop the flow of tears. "I'm sorry I'm doing this."

"I'm not."

Isabelle jumped, her shadowhunting reflexes still tuned, and she spun around. It was Jonathan, staring at her hungrily. She tried to step back and her knees buckled on the edge of the bed. When she looked up from he lap, she saw Jonathan towering over her. He smiled wickedly at her.

"Jonathan, what are you doing here?" She gulped back a scream and tried to stand. Jonathan placed her shaking palms on her shoulders and pushed her back down. He bent a knee and rested it on the bed beside Isabelle's leg.

"It's my room," he pointed out calmly, but his body was vibrating violently. "So shouldn't I be asking you what you're doing here?"

"My job," Isabelle said weakly. "I need to finish this room and your parents. Let me up."

"That's alright-" Jonathan said as he brought his other knee up and straddled her hips "-I personally-" he pushed her back onto the bed "-prefer you-" Jonathan's hands stroked her thighs and hips "-right here."

Jonathan pressed his lips against Isabelle's, devouring her scream for help. In Isabelle's mind, all she could see was Max's little face. She could still see his lifeless eyes, seeing nothing but those last moments in the dark, alone, scared.

"No!" Isabelle cried furiously. "Get off me."

The anger Jonathan had been trying to rein in burst out. He sat up right and eyed Isabelle speculatively. She was twisting and thrashing beneath him, and all he saw was red. Before Jonathan knew what had happened, he drew back his hand and brought it down across Isabelle's face. She continued to struggle, so his hand fell again, and again, and again. Before Jonathan knew what had happened, Isabelle was lying under him, covering her face and shaking with fear. There was blood on the new linens and on Jonathan's hand. But the anger was gone.

"I have no intention of letting you go, Isabelle," Jonathan said harshly in her ear. "Would you rather I be doing this to Jace? I gladly would if I could. Go ahead, say it, say you want me to beat Jace instead of you."

"How can you ask me to say that?" Isabelle whimpered. "Jace is my brother."

"No, Max was your brother," said Jonathan slowly. "Is this about Max?"

"How can it be about Max?" demanded Isabelle, wondering just how sharp the mind hidden behind those cruel eyes was. "He's dead, gone, thanks to you!" Isabelle weakly struck Jonathan, unable to get any force behind the blow. In return, Jonathan backhanded her so hard across the face Isabelle thought her jaw might have broken.

"But Jace isn't…yet." Jonathan's eyes seemed to glow sickly. "So that's what this is about, is it? Your duty to protect you _brother_." Jonathan laughed. "It's over, Isabelle, you can't stop me from hurting Jace. All you can do is lie here and accept whatever treatment I decide to give you. Understand?" Jonathan resituated himself on Isabelle so she couldn't move. "If I decide to hit you, then you should shut up and take it, and if I decide to tell you, let's see…to lie here in this bed with me, than that's where you'll stay."

Isabelle felt the blood from her nose running over her lips, which were trembling. "N-no, no I won't do it. You can't make me."

"Listen," Jonathan said darkly, "I'm going to find Jace, and I'm going to beat him senseless, but, if I were distracted from that course of action, for say, a night, I might have time to relax and think and decide that I don't want to beat him. But that's only if I have that time to relax, isn't it?"

"You can't expect me to…" Isabelle wavered off because of course he was asking that. How was she supposed to say no when saying so would cause Jace immeasurable pain? All she had to do was spend a little time, a night, with Jonathan. Jace would be fine, he wouldn't be hurt, he'd be fine, safe, protected…_Just like Max?_

"I do," murmured Jonathan in her ear.

Shaking and bleeding, her face throbbing with pain, Isabelle licked away the blood and forced herself to look into Jonathan's eyes. "Can I just clean the blood off my face?"

Valentine grasped Jace and Clary around their throats and dragged them from the dining room and into his study. Instinctually, Clary fought, twisting and dragging her feet, because nothing good every happened in Valentine's study. She wasn't strong enough though, to stop her father. He kicked open the door and pulled them in, and when Jace struggled, he forced them to sit before the fire, pressed against each other.

"So, Clary, your mother told you the news?" He eyed his daughter with disgust. "What do you think of it?"

Too much held in, and Clary was shaking with it all. "I hate it! I hope she miscarries before you can get your demented hands around it!"

Jace's eyes never left Valentine, trailing the way he prowled about. "That's disappointing, Clary; I had hoped you would take to the idea of a little sibling."

"Why's that?" snarled Clary, remembering Isabelle's words about power and independence.

"You're a poor excuse for a child," Valentine said bluntly. "I really don't think there's much I can do for you. I'll train you, of course, and make you into an exemplary daughter, but I just can't love you."

"So this child is the replacement?" Clary raised her eyebrows. "You want to have me shuffled aside."

Valentine's face showed his shock. "I didn't think you were smart enough to understand that. As it is, I have a plan for you, Clarissa. An ideal solution."

"You'll let us go?" suggested Jace with a quirked smile. "We'd go, and never come back. I would take Clary away and we'd start over somewhere."

"No, Jace, you and Clary are mine forever. You'll never be free to just go. You belong to me." Valentine crossed over to the fire and watched it, his eyes blazing with something horrible. "Clary, you're going to play the nursemaid from now on. You will be your mother's perfect daughter and help her in everyway possible. And when the baby is born, you will be the caregiver. You will take care of it. As it grows, you will step aside and let take your place."

Clary, who had been expecting something like that, just blinked at her father and pressed her fingers into Jace's palm. "What will happen when it's full grown? Will you let me move away?"

"That depends on how you've handled yourself since its birth. Perhaps you and Jace can go then, but not far." He reached into his pocket and drew out a slim object, something glinted, and Clary's mind reeled. "About you and traveling, Clary…"

"I haven't gone anywhere!" Clary said at once, and Jace had to grip down on her hand. "I haven't done anything."

"We are going to be leaving this house eventually, and you and Jace are coming with us. But I just can't trust you away from this place. This is private and safe, and soon you'll be back in the throbbing life of Idris. I must keep track of you."

"No!" Jace was up and pushing Clary into the couch. "You can't. If you even think about-"

"I have no choice!" Valentine said sharply. "I can't trust either of you anymore, not even you, Jace, which hurts me more than anything. I don't want to do this, but I need to." He seemed to really regret it. "It will hurt, but then I can trust you, and trust is important in this family."

"What are you doing?" Clary asked, seeing the tension in Jace's shoulders.

"A tracking rune," Jace snarled. "Isn't it, my lord? A permanent tracking rune. So no matter where we go, or what we do, we'll always be yours."

"You're not leaving me another option," sighed Valentine. "Clary, would you care to come first? The sooner it's over and sooner we can put it behind us. Come here, daughter."

Clary squirmed and Jace took her arm in a powerful grasp. "No, Clary." He met Valentine's gaze for the first time in a while. "You can't do this to us, we're not dogs with collars."

"Jace, I didn't give you a choice, and as far as I'm concerned, my children are my-"

"Property?" Clary snarled behind Jace. "That's what you think, isn't it? That you own me."

Valentine considered his daughter a moment, then lunged faster than she thought possible. Jace tried to block him, but Valentine caught him by the hair and ripped him aside. Jace fumbled to the floor and tried to rise but Valentine kicked him hard in the side. He snatched Clary, who only had time to blink, before she was being pulled forward. Valentine had trained her to fight, but not good enough to defend herself against him. Valentine smiled as he dragged his daughter toward the fire, crackling perilously.

"The less you struggle, the less it hurts, I swear, little Clary," murmured Valentine. He forced her to her knees before the hearth and took a firm grip on her wrists so she couldn't move. "Now, I just need a little bit of open space by your throat."

"No, no, no, no," Clary said, shaking her head and reacting on pure instinct. "Get away, get away, leave me alone!"

"Silence!"

Valentine gave his daughter a shake and took advantage of the low cut of her gown. With his free hand, he placed the stele in the flame until it began to glow white hot. Clary's eyes rolled and she groaned. Jace rolled onto his knees and saw Clary in her father's grasp, and tried to raise himself to his feet. In the back of his mind, he saw himself, seven years old, trapped in the same grip, while Valentine burned runes into his hands.

"No!" Jace croaked. "Don't do it."

But it was too late, Valentine spun the blade and sliced into Clary's skin. She gasped and cried out, but didn't move. Clary knew that if she wiggled the blade would only hurt her more. Each second was like a year of pain, a year of mindless terror, a year of humiliation. She met Jace's eyes and blinked away the tears.

"Finished," Valentine said with a flourish of the blade. ""It suits you well, Clarissa." She could hear the smile in his voice, the sick, mad man. "Jace, would you care to come here? It makes things so much easier."

Jace's hands were clenched tightly, his mouth working up to an insult. "Let Clary go first."

"Is that an order?" Valentine tightened his grip on Clary's arm. She was shaking badly and biting her lips. "Jace, is that an order?"

"N-no," Jace said after a minute of thought. "I'm asking you to let her go." Jace wouldn't beg, not to Valentine, he just couldn't. "There's no way to mark me if you're holding Clary."

"True enough," Valentine said with a sick smile. He released his grip on Clary, who plunged forward and pressed her hands gingerly against her neck. "Clarissa, go to your mother, see if she needs anything. You're not to leave until I saw otherwise."

Clary's eyes went from the stele, still glowing ominously, to Jace, who set his face. "If she's asleep she doesn't really need me…"

"I said go, Clarissa. I wasn't asking, I wasn't suggesting, I was telling. _Go to your mother_!" He flipped the blade about, toying with her.

Clary rose slowly, still trembling, and looked apologetically at Jace. He just glanced to the door and nodded stiffly. There was nothing Clary could do to stop Valentine now. She picked up her skirts and took off, her dress ruffling on the floor. As she fled through the doors, all she could think of was Isabelle, and how she'd said to be cold, and how terribly she'd failed at that.

Jace's golden eyes followed Clary and he jumped when Valentine took him by the arm. When he turned about, he saw the open flame and the stele and looked into those cold eyes he'd faced all his life.

"You have a strange power over my daughter, Jace." Valentine grinned at him. "It's good you can do that, but you should be wary. I thought I had a hold over Jocelyn, and it took years to get her back." Like an artist admiring a block of wood he was about to carve, Valentine lifted Jace's jaw and examined his open throat. "You'll keep a good grip on my daughter I hope, at least until this next child is born. After that, I could care less what becomes of Clary. She's worthless."

"You're a monster," Jace spat through clenched teeth, and then closed his eyes as Valentine lowered the burning blade to his throat.


End file.
